The trees of this forest had to be some kind of coniferous adaptation. As he drew closer Stanton saw that they had the shape of pines, but bore translucent red fruits the size of a fist. Closer still and he saw needles that were flat blades, and trunks that had the appearance of sections of laminate wood. Running between these square-section trunks, he glanced back. A tall figure was loping towards him from the lake. It surprised him how much reserve he managed to call up from his boosted muscles.
On through the trees, the fallen needles a crunchy grey carpet underfoot. Stanton considered pulling his pulse-gun and triggering it under his chin. He did not know what Pelter had in mind, so that option would at least be quick. He rejected the idea. The gaps between the trunks were wide, and the ground an easy surface to run across. Stanton scanned for somewhere to hide, then wondered why the hell he was doing so. Crane would hear his ragged breaths, even his heartbeat. Ahead he heard the sound of rushing water, and accelerated when he thought this might offer him a chance of escape. Beating up-slope now, he glanced back. No sign of Crane, but the android might be circling round. Stanton could not change his course now. In a straight run he stood no chance: Crane was faster than him and just did not need to rest. The river was his only hope. Soon he crested a ridge and saw the heavy swirl of glassy water below. The roar came from his left. He jogged down the slope to where stone slabs shelved the edge of the water. Here the conifers were displaced by blue oaks, their acorns scattered on the ground like bird's eggs. A glance back gave him more impetus. Crane was loping along under the conifers, kicking up masses of needles at every step as his huge weight sank into the ground. That was it: the weight! When he reached the slabs, Stanton turned and drew his pulse-gun. It had its full charge: over fifty shots. He aimed very carefully and pressed down on the trigger.
White fire cut a stuttering stream between Stanton and the android. Crane was taking another loping step as it hit, and the fusillade flung him back, thumping into the front of his coat, smoke and flame and pieces of burning cloth flying in every direction. He landed and slipped, shots still hitting him, and then he went over on his back. A few seconds at most it had given Stanton. He did not wait to see if the android would get up. He knew the answer to that as he dived into the river.
The water was icy, but Stanton hardly noticed. He struck out with a powerful crawl stroke downstream. Behind him there was a huge splash. He glanced back and saw a hat floating on the surface and found himself grinning maniacally at that. Crane had tried to follow him, neglecting to take into account the fact that he was made of case-hardened ceramal. Stanton hoped the water was deep. He swam harder, a sudden vision in his mind of Crane striding along the riverbed after him. Ahead of him the roar grew in volume. Happy day: a waterfall. He tried to strike out for the edge of the river, but the current was too strong now. It dragged him to a green-slimed lip of stone and tipped him over into white water. He went feet first, hoping thus to absorb some of the impact of whatever might lie below.
A cold, deep pool greeted him, and he was dragged and tumbled through water fizzing like tonic. Gasping he came to the surface beyond the fall, and looked back again. Something hit the water hard behind him. He looked ahead, to where the river spread wide over slabbed stone, then struck out - only to have his hand slap down on that stone. A few strokes and the water was too shallow to swim in. He stood, drew his gun, and waded as quickly through the water as he could. He slipped at almost every step. Perhaps now was the time to put the gun under his chin. One shot was all he needed, and he had about ten left. A glance behind showed him a bronze hand coming up out the water and snatching a hat from the surface. Crazy android. Mr Crane walked up out of the pool, straightening the brim of his hat. Stanton turned and faced him.
There was nothing to say. Pelter might be watching through Crane's eyes, or not, but Stanton was damned if he was going to beg. He was damned if he was going to give up either. Trying to recover his breath he waited for Crane, his gun down at his side. Crane looked from side to side in that curious birdlike manner.
When he was only a few metres away Stanton lifted his gun and fired his remaining shots. Crane leant into them. Each pulse of ionized aluminium just caused a momentary glow on his armoured chest, maybe a little pitting in the surface, but the glow quickly disappeared as the heat was dispersed through die's-con network imbedded in his armour. When the gun was empty, Stanton threw it at the android. A brass hand snatched the weapon, shattered it, and tossed the pieces aside. This was it. Crane stepped in and Stanton tried a stamp kick on his knee. He might more easily have tried to knock over an oak. Crane grabbed the front of his jacket, hoisted him into the air, and threw him. Stanton came down on his back in the shallow water with slimed rocks cracking against his spine. Crane came striding in again as he tried to stand. A backhand slap laid Stanton across the damp needles on the shore. What was the use? A boot like a ram flipped him over onto his back. Crane stooped over him, black eyes giving nothing. It might as well have been a slab of metal that was killing him. A huge brass hand closed around his throat and he was lifted once again.
Maybe the eyes. Maybe he could at least damage this toyofPelter's?
Stanton nicked the Tenkian ring round with his thumb. He felt the tug at his trouser leg as the dagger came out dirough the rip it had made before. Forest light glittered off the yellow chainglass blade and the handle slapped into his hand. He swung at Crane's eyes, and the android's other hand snapped up and caught his wrist. The point of the blade was a hand's breaddi from those black eyes. Crane blinked and did nothing while Stanton choked. Abrupdy, he released Stanton's throat. Stanton yelled as all his weight came down on his right shoulder. Crane pulled the blade from Stanton's hand and then, in a moment, just discarded him.
The lights in the Tenkian were flickering as it no doubt tried to give Mr Crane a shock. Crane was oblivious to the electrical charge, but not oblivious to the pretty lights and the beauty of the weapon. He held it between his two forefingers and studied it for a long time. Stanton just lay there, recovering his breath. His right shoulder felt like it was dislocated, and he'd definitely cracked a few ribs. There was no point in running now. He just waited for the inevitable.
Crane finished his long study of the Tenkian dagger, then slipped it into the pocket of his coat. He glanced at Stanton, lifted a forefinger up to his metal mouth, held it there for a moment, before stepping over him and walking off into the forest.
Her left leg hurt like hell, and felt warm and sticky inside the suit. In a way she wished that the sealant layer sandwiched between the armour and the inner suit had not done its job so well. Had it not, she would not face the prospect of suffocating in about twenty minutes from now. The Lyric was gone, John was either dead or soon would be, Pelter would see to that, and the safety lock on her suit even precluded her opening the helmet to vacuum. Jarvellis hung in space over Viridian and watched pieces of her ship flaring in atmosphere below her - when she could see through her tears.
The old ring station was perhaps a few hundred metres away behind her. Straining round she could see a light deep inside it, behind exposed structural members. That option wa§ closed to her as well. She had used up all the fuel in the suit's impellers in order to escape the blast. 'Get out,' John had said. She had heard him clear, even as she had blown the airlock door and fired-up the impellers. The disc of fire had cut below her, then the debris cloud riding the blastwave had slammed into her back and tumbled her over and over. No doubt the piece of the Lyric that had punched into her thigh had been a fragment of chainglass. It had been one of many hits she had felt, and nothing else could have penetrated the ceramal armour.