"Probably part of a local gang of thieves," Daulo said contemptuously. "We're probably heading for their roadblock right now."
"Well, we can't have that, can we?" Merrick said. "I'll take care of it."
"How?" Jin asked suspiciously.
"I'm going to give him some car trouble," Merrick said. "Master Sammon, do we have any left-hand curves coming up? Preferably something with forest or other cover close at hand."
There was a soft glow from the front seat as Daulo consulted his map. "There's a fairly sharp left curve about five kilometers ahead," he reported. "But the nearest trees to that spot are almost twenty meters back from the road."
"Any depressions or pits anywhere along the curve?" Merrick asked.
"There's a drainage channel running along both shoulders the whole length of the curve," Daulo said. "But they're not likely to be more than half a meter deep."
"Good enough," Merrick assured him. "Can you keep the overhead light from going on when the door is opened?"
"What exactly are you planning?" Daulo asked as he reached up to the dome light switch.
"As I said, I'm going to give him some car trouble," Merrick said, swiveling his legs around the front side of his jump seat. "Lean forward, please, and crack the door open a few centimeters."
"Wait a minute," Daulo said, his tone suddenly ominous. "You're not planning to
jump,
are you?"
"Don't worry, I'll be fine," Merrick assured him. "Low-altitude aircar quick-exits are something we do all the time."
He looked at his mother, waiting for her to raise the point that, although the quick-exit was certainly taught at the academy, Merrick himself hadn't done one since graduation. But she remained silent. "As soon as I'm out, close the door and keep going at the same speed," Merrick continued. "Mom will tell you when you should slow down so that I can catch up with you."
"Understood," Daulo said. "Be careful."
He hitched his seat forward and opened his door a crack. Merrick got one hand on the seat back and the other on the doorjamb and waited.
They reached the curve, and as they turned into it Merrick eased himself alongside Daulo's seat and pushed the door open half a meter, balancing himself partway out the door. The wind buffeted hard against his face, and he closed his eyes against the onslaught as he keyed in his optical enhancers to give him some vision. For a few seconds he crouched beside Daulo, waiting for just the right moment . . . and as they approached the midpoint of the curve, he shifted his weight and dropped out the door.
He barely had time to get his legs pumping before his feet hit the pavement. For a second he thought he wasn't going to make it, that his feet would be swept out from under him and he would end up being dragged along the road.
Then his nanocomputer got his servo-driven legs into the rhythm, and he had his balance back. He released his grip on the door, angled toward the edge of the shoulder, and started to slow down. For another couple of seconds he fought the same fight against speed that he'd just won, only this time in reverse.
And as the truck continued past him down the curve, Merrick threw himself headfirst into the drainage channel beside the road, tucking his forearms against his face to protect it as he slid off the remainder of his momentum.
He'd half expected his Qasaman outfit to disintegrate under the stress, leaving him with a few bad scrapes at the very least. But the clothing was tougher than he'd realized, and it came through the ordeal with only some minor rips. Even more fortunately, the channel was dry, which meant no huge spray of water to warn the trailing car that one of their quarries had flown the coop. Ignoring the handful of bumps and bruises his landing had beaten into his arms and chest, Merrick rolled up onto his back and waited.
From his new vantage point, he heard the tailing car well before he saw it. He focused on the edge of the road, his right hand curling into firing position. The car flashed past, and in a single motion Merrick sat up, glanced a target lock onto the nearer rear wheel, and fired his fingertip laser. There was a muffled
pop
as the tire blew.
And suddenly the car was all over the road, its tires screeching as the driver fought to bring it back under control. Merrick swung himself around and rose up into a low crouch, watching the car swerving back and forth. As soon as it came to a halt, he would slip away, cut across the landscape, and catch up with his mother and the Sammons.
He was still watching when the driver abruptly lost his battle with momentum. The car shot across the center line, angled across the shoulder, and slammed down into the drainage channel on the far side.
"Damn!" Merrick bit out as he leaped up and sprinted toward the car. The idea had been to quietly and peaceably stop the vehicle, not wreck it and injure or kill everyone inside. He reached the car and bent down to look inside.
The driver was draped over the steering wheel, his head and arms limp, his face turned away. Swearing again, Merrick hurried around to the driver's side and pulled at the door. It resisted, probably knocked out of shape by the crash. He tried again, this time putting his servos into the effort, and with a horrible grinding noise the door came open.
The driver didn't move. Gingerly, Merrick reached in and touched his fingertips to the other's neck. To his relief, he found a slow but steady pulse. At least the man wasn't dead. Merrick focused on the other's face, notching up his light-amps.
And a sudden chill ran down his back. This wasn't just some random member of some random gang.
It was Carsh Zoshak.
There was the sound of tires on pavement, and he looked up to see the Sammon truck back up to a jerky halt in front of the wrecked car. "What happened?" Jin called as she jumped out of the truck.
"He lost control when I popped his tire," Merrick said grimly. "And it's not a thief. It's Carsh Zoshak."
"What?" Daulo demanded as he got out of his side of the truck and hurried to join them. "But—"
"I guess he wasn't senior enough to call in a SkyJo," Merrick said. "Mom, can you help me get him out of the car?"
"You think that's wise?" Jin asked as she leaned into the car and checked Zoshak's pulse for herself.
"Well, we can't exactly leave him here," Merrick said tersely. "I don't see any blood, but there could be a concussion or internal injuries."
Daulo came up beside them, his expression tense. "God in heaven," he breathed, looking at the unconscious Shahni agent. "What did you
do
?"
"I just popped one of his rear tires, that's all," Merrick told him. "It should have brought him to a stop and kept him there. Instead, he lost control."
Daulo snarled a word Merrick's Qasaman classes had somehow never covered. "What do we do?"
"We get him to a hospital," Jin said. "Merrick, I'll take his head. You lean him out and get his torso and legs. Daulo, is there a medical kit in the truck?"
"Yes, but only a simple one."
"We'll take whatever you've got," Jin said as she and Merrick eased the unconscious man out of the car. "I'll ride in back and see what I can do for him."
Merrick grimaced. "No, I'll do it," he said. "My training is more up-to-date than yours."
"You sure?" Jin asked, peering closely at him. "I thought you hated the sight of blood."
"So what?" Merrick growled. "Besides, I'm the one who wrecked him."
His mother hesitated, then nodded. "All right. Daulo, can you get the back of the cargo area open?"
The cargo area had a very low ceiling, and getting Zoshak inside without jostling him proved to be a delicate operation. But between them, Merrick and Jin managed it. Merrick climbed in beside the wounded man, accepted the first-aid kit Fadil handed him, and settled himself into a cross-legged position as Daulo closed the rear door.
Zoshak's teeth were chattering quietly as Merrick pried open the kit and took a quick inventory. Bandages, cleaning cloths, painkillers, a few patches of unknown purpose, and a handful of small color-coded hypos whose contents consisted of medical-looking words that Merrick had never learned. As the truck headed off again, Merrick set the kit aside and carefully eased open Zoshak's outer robe and tunic.
Back at the Sammon house, Daulo had suggested that the gray scaly material Merrick had spotted under Zoshak's sleeve was a krisjaw armband. To Merrick's surprise, it wasn't.
Beside him, the connecting window to the truck's cab slid open. "How's he doing?" Jin asked, looking through the opening.
"His teeth are chattering," Merrick said, shifting his eyes to Zoshak's face as he took off his own robe. "Well, they were a minute ago, anyway. His skin doesn't feel cold, so I'm guessing it's shock."
"You need to keep him warm."
"Already on it," Merrick assured her, laying his robe across Zoshak's legs and abdomen. "Where's Lorne and his magic health-ometer ears when we need him?"
"You're the one who insisted on inviting yourself along on this trip," his mother said.
"Don't remind me," Merrick said. "By the way, you can tell Daulo that this krisjaw armband of his goes all the way up.
And
down."
"What do you mean?" Jin asked, frowning.
"I mean he's got a whole suit of the stuff," Merrick said. "Shirt, trousers—the works. Might have socks, too, for all I know. Either he's one heck of a hunter, or else he has serious compensation issues."
"Never mind his issues," Jin said. "What can you tell about his injuries?"
"Not much," Merrick admitted, gently kneading the usual places on Zoshak's torso. "I don't feel any swelling in his major organs. No broken ribs, either." He shifted his hands to Zoshak's arms. "Arms seem okay, too. That just leaves his head."
From the front seat, Daulo said something Merrick didn't catch. "Daulo says you can use the green hypo to wake him up," Jin repeated. "It's a mild stimulant."
"I'd rather not pump any chemicals into him if we don't have to," Merrick said, eyeing the hypos dubiously as he sealed Zoshak's tunic and robe again. "As long as he seems stable, I vote we just watch him and let a real doctor handle the treatment."
"That's probably best," Jin agreed reluctantly. "I just hate to sit here and do nothing."
" 'The patient heals; the doctor collects the bill,"' Merrick quoted. "How much farther?"
Jin glanced over her shoulder. "We're here."
Merrick ducked his head and looked between Daulo and Fadil. There, rising up from the plain ahead, framed against the red fire of the rising sun behind it, was Sollas.
The first mission to Qasama had spent the bulk of their time in and around Sollas, and Merrick had studied all the pictures they'd brought back of the city. The skyline had changed a little since then, he noted, with a few new buildings and some extra height on some of the others. But the most striking change—"Is that a
wall
around the city?"
Jin turned around again. "Certainly looks like one," she confirmed, her voice sounding odd. "Daulo, when did they put
that
up?"
"Quite a few years ago, actually," Daulo said. "A few years after your visit. You didn't know?"
"Not even a hint," Jin said. "Our observation satellites all started dying shortly after I left, and with the . . . new political climate the Council decided not to replace them."
"Probably because they would have showed that the Moreau plan had worked," Merrick put in sourly.
Fadil shot a glance over his shoulder. "The
Moreau
plan? The razorarms were
your
idea?"
"Partly," Jin told him. "Well, mostly, I suppose. But the people who opposed it wanted to smear our family, so they dubbed it the Moreau plan and worked hard to make the name stick." She turned back to Merrick. "Any change?"
Merrick looked down at Zoshak. "Nothing obvious," he reported, checking the young Qasaman's neck again. "Pulse and breathing are still steady."
"Keep an eye on him."
"I will." Merrick shifted to a side-sitting position, easing the strain on his leg muscles, and glanced out the cargo area's rear window. Thoughts of Zoshak had suddenly sparked the thought that the Shahni agent might not have been alone. But the road behind them was empty of vehicles. With a sigh of relief and fatigue, Merrick started to look away.
And paused. The road itself was clear, but there was something in the distance above it: a black spot, moving rapidly toward them out of the darker part of the sky. One of the SkyJo attack helicopters that Daulo had mentioned? Hoping fervently that it was something else—
anything
else—he keyed in his telescopic enhancers.
The next instant his vision exploded into a violent back-and-forth sway, the unavoidable price for using telescopics inside a moving vehicle. Merrick clamped down on his sudden vertigo and let his head and neck float, compensating as best he could for the bounces. An image flashed into view and then back out again before he could identify it. He set his teeth, fighting to bring it back.
And as he did, he felt his breath catch in his throat. The vehicle back there wasn't a SkyJo. It was a Troft spaceship. "Are we expecting company from the Trofts?" he called toward the cab.
"What do you mean?" Daulo asked, turning in his seat.
"There's a ship coming in from the west," Merrick told him, working furiously to maintain his hold on the image. "It's definitely a Troft, but it isn't a type I've ever seen before."
"Can you describe it?" Jin asked, bobbing her head up and down as she tried to look out the back. "It's too high for my angle."
"Looks sort of like a wrigglefish," Merrick said. "Tall but thin, at least from the front. It's—well, it's longer than it is tall, but it's too far away for me to get a definitive scale. There are two sets of short wings on each side . . . wait a minute."
"What?" Jin asked.
"He's not coming in on gravity lifts," Merrick said, frowning as the strangeness of that suddenly struck him. Troft spacecraft
always
came down on gravity lifts. "He must be using airfoils." Blinking, Merrick shut off the telescopics, trying to give his brain a brief rest.