"Sir, somethings happening at the docks." Fanning ran back to the window. "Everybody quiet! Listen." Travis stood stock-still, his hair fluttering in me wind. Faintly, through the constant roar of the air, Hayden could hear a distant, irregular pop-popping sound.

"Gunfire! And some sort of commotion by the ships. I think they're trying to cast off."

At that moment the dowager baroness of Cordia stood up and shrieked, "It's a trick! They're just trying to buy time, you dolts. You're letting them get away."

Venera spun and fired. The baroness fell back with a cry. Then the main door's barricade shuddered under an explosion that knocked paintings off the walls and books out of the shelves. The heavy tables that made up the barricade stepped forward several feet, knocking some of the defenders aside in a spray of smoke and splinters.

Fanning leveled his pistol and fired into the cloud. "Shore that up! "The Gehellens had misjudged the amount of powder it would take to blow the barricade, but next time they were likely to over-compensate. The door was going to open soon no matter what the Slipstreamers did.

"They're moving! The ships are moving!" A cheer went up at this announcement. The door defenders were back on their feet and using up the last of their ammunition to prevent anyone coming through as they shoved the smoking furniture back into the gap. It was too late, though—blades and bullets shot out of the smoke, taking down two of the officers.

Fanning stood on a central table and pointed with his saber. "Cut up those curtains. I want parachutes."

Men were smashing out the remaining panes of glass on the library's lower level. The wind now had free reign and it began sucking up everything—shards of glass, glowering portraits of Gehellen royalty, the buzzing pages of books. Gunfire ripped through both barricades, scattering the men there. Somebody screamed, "They're coming through!"

Suddenly the younger of the two Gehellen women leaped onto the gallery banister, wailing incoherently as she leveled a gun at the people below. The hand of the man left to guard her hung limply through the banister posts. She aimed at something over Hayden's head and fired, the recoil causing her to lose her footing. She fell off the gallery into the chaos of broken furniture and Hayden turned in time to see Travis, clutching his shoulder, stagger into the embrace of the wind and be snatched away by it.

Through the howl of the wind Hayden heard someone yell, "The Tormentor is coming," just as the barricades fell and armed men leapt into the room. Fanning leaped off his table and ran for the windows. "Junior officers first, get ready and line up your jump!" He handed large swatches of torn curtain to the young men then pushed them at the window. That was all Hayden had time to notice before he was faced with a grinning enemy with a sword and had to parry a cut to his throat.

The Gehellens were weak. It took long seconds for the fact to register with Hayden. As he cut and parried he realized that he outmatched his opponent in both strength and speed and that the same was true in the other duels being fought around him. Gravity was a precious commodity here, metered out unwillingly by the upper classes. These soldiers hadn't trained nearly enough in it.

He sent his opponent down with a slice to the ribs and turned to the next one. For a few seconds there was only the narrow world of slash-and-dodge; then someone screamed his name.

Glancing around, he saw Aubri holding one hand out to him.

She stood next to the window with several others; in one hand she clutched a crimson swath of curtain. Hayden cut madly at the man he fought, then dove back to take Aubri's hand. She pulled them both out the window, and the library, the palace, and the royal town of Gehellen swept up and away at awful speed.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

SNARLING BIKES TRAILED banners of vapor through the city. Chaison Fanning expected bullets to strike him any second; he focused on holding on to the corners of the scarlet curtain that fought to leap out of his hands. This close to a town wheel, there was usually a zone of empty air for safety reasons; if only he didn't lose the sheet he might be able to slow down to a reasonable velocity before he plastered himself against some window in the weightless part of the city.

The riveted iron belly of the royal town wheel receded with alarming speed, but he could see no puffs of smoke to signify that his people were being fired upon. In fact, he heard no shots at all now, just the bikes and the juddering of the wind.

One bike slid across the air toward him. Here comes the end, he thought. But as the can-shaped jet closed the last few feet to run parallel with his fall, he saw the Slipstream crest on its side. Its rider leaned over and held out an open palm for him to catch.

Chaison let go of the recalcitrant cloth and grabbed at the offered hand. It took a while to make the catch but before he expected it he was astride the hot metal cylinder, hanging on with white knuckles while he tried to jam his feet into the passenger stirrups.

Everywhere he looked, bikes were picking up falling officers. He even spotted Venera by the color of her clothes as she wrapped her arms around the waist of her rescuer. In the middle distance—between the bikes and the tumbled shapes of the city—six battered cruisers were circling.

He clapped his driver on the shoulder. "The Rook, if you can." 

"Yes, sir." The man hunched forward and they took off. "That's a mighty fine dress uniform if I do say so myself."

"One of the things they give you when you get to be admiral," yelled Chaison over the wind.

"Yeah? What else they give you?" 

"Headaches!"

with a few seconds to spare, Chaison examined the tactical situation. A navy's worm of bikes, cutters, and strike boats was stitching just beyond the Slipstream ships. And at the naval shipyard, a dozen battleships at least were casting off their moorings. But so far, nobody had fired a shot.

"They're afraid we'll blow up their city," he said. Indeed, the Slip-streamers' rocket racks were all open and aimed, some at the palace. Chaison began to smile.

The bike dropped him off at the familiar hangar; the hatch gang gawked at him as though he'd returned from the dead as they helped him inside. "Senior officers to the bridge as soon as they arrive," he said to them. "Prepare to get under way."

There was no way everyone had made it back on board. If the fight at the docks had gone the way it had looked, a sizeable knot of Slipstreamers might have been left behind when the ships lifted off. This presented Chaison with a bitter decision, and he considered it unhappily as he hand-walked up to the bridge.

"Admiral on the bridge!" He ignored the jubilant cries of the staffers and strapped himself into the command chair. He was sitting thus, glowering, when the wounded and adrenaline-fired officers began straggling in, laughing and shouting and embracing one another. To his astonishment, Travis was with them, pale and clutching his wounded arm, but otherwise intact.

Trailing them all came Ambassador Reiss, who appeared to be in a state of shock.

"Listen!" Chaison hammered the arm of the chair to get everyone's attention. "We have about one minute to make a major decision. We have a choice now. I understand that some of our men are still at the docks and may be scattered through the city if the bikes didn't get to them in time. We can recover all of them if we take a stand here and threaten to blow up the royal palace of Gehellen."

He had their full attention now. "Now, with luck and a little negotiation, we might then secure an escort to the border and escape this nest of traitors. But during all the talking and threatening, the Gehellens will have plenty of time to deploy their ships to best effect. We will have to give up any hope of reaching Leaf's Choir."