The weapons truck braked to a halt, its deadly cylinder slewing around to point at the generator building. “Hit the fucker, Cat!” Morton yelled.

Three coincident hyper-rifle shots punctured the force field, and ignited the truck’s power cells. The explosion sent armor suits tumbling across the rock, its ferocity overwhelming all the other firefights.

Morton picked himself up. There was no more Port Evergreen. The only structure remaining was the wormhole generator. Where the huts had been, meager flames guttered in the ruptured foundations. The mounds of wreckage that had been Carbon Goose planes glowed vermilion in patches as they swiftly shed their heat into the freezing air. Rivulets of lava were running downslope to the sea where the Starflyer’s weapon had struck rock.

An ion pistol pulse struck the generator building. Four armor suits immediately fired on the Starflyer agent. Morton hurriedly focused on the building’s entrance. Last thing he remembered was two Starflyer agents in the doorway holding off Matthew. Blue-white light flared inside, a section of the wall shattered, and a broken armor suit flew out through the gash.

“Last one, I think,” Ayub said.

Morton held his breath, and focused his sensors on the wormhole. It was still open. He couldn’t bear the tension. If any Starflyer agent was left on this side, they’d destroy the generator. If there was a demolition charge planted, now was when it would go off.

The Cat moved up to stand beside him. “Eleven minutes left to the end of the cycle. Do we go through?”

“I dunno. Alic?”

“We don’t know what’s there. Matthew, send something through, grab us some data.”

“Already ahead of you, Boss.”

“Okay, everyone else, short-range sweep. We need to secure the area.”

Morton reluctantly agreed with the navy commander, and began to scan the ground where his suit array had located the last Starflyer agent.

Five sneekbots were running fast over the scorched ground in front of the generator building. They didn’t slow when they reached the pressure curtain. Morton accessed their sensor feeds as he continued his own search through various pieces of wreckage. There was a moment of fuzzy darkness, then they emerged into a universe that was strangely black. The ground was covered in soggy ash. Infrared showed something large directly ahead. A flash of light—

“They’re waiting for us,” Jim said.

“Christ, we need the armored cars for this.” Morton touched the Carbon Goose icon. “Wilson, get down here fast.”

“On my way. What’s happening?”

“We’ve secured the wormhole, but the bastard slipped through. They’re sitting on the other side, and shooting anything that sticks its head through. The armor cars should give us an edge.”

“That’s a bad timescale,” Wilson said.

“Morton,” Adam called, “even if we get the armored cars through, which will be pushing it, we’ll be in some kind of fight to clear the area. We don’t know how long that’ll take, and it’s what the Volvos are carrying that is really important here. They have to be safeguarded, and they’re simply not going to get through in the ten minutes we’ve got left.”

“If you don’t go through, you’ll be giving it a fifteen-hour head start. How long will it take to reach its ship?”

“Two to three days, depending on how badly the clan warriors damage Highway One.”

“Then you can’t afford fifteen hours.”

“I know.”

Morton’s suit sensors showed him an immobile warm patch in a slight hollow. When he inspected it, he found half an armor suit and a large rapidly cooling shale of blood crystals.

“Sending another sneekbot through,” Matthew announced.

The Carbon Goose was a pink point just above the invisible horizon, still two minutes out. Morton cursed the feeble speed of the great plane. He knew they weren’t going to get down in time. The timer in his virtual vision was counting off the seconds. There were only eight and a half minutes left now. He pulled the latest sneekbot image out of his grid. It lasted less than a second.

“What the hell is that black stuff?” Rob asked. “It’s everywhere on the other side.”

“It looks like ash to me,” Matthew said. “Something bad happened there, very bad.”

Morton finished his sweep. He watched the Carbon Goose swoop low over the water. Its nose tipped up, and the tail touched the surface. Huge fantails of foam shot out on either side and it slowly sank back level, lowering more and more of its belly into the water. He was surprised how short the landing run was.

“Morton,” Adam called, “we’re not going to send the armored cars through.”

“Damnit.” He looked at the wormhole again. The impulse to sprint straight at it was a strong one. I wonder if that’s how I felt killing Tara. Action is always the solution, it links events, carries you forward.

“There might be another way,” Adam said.

Morton switched his communications link off. “It better be good,” he muttered into the muffled silence of his helmet.

While the Carbon Goose sailed sedately toward the shelf of rock that formed Port Evergreen’s shore, Morton went and stood in front of the dull gray semicircle. The timer continued to count off seconds. It was like watching his life drain away. He was aware of three other armor suits coming up to stand beside him. They waited in silence.

We should have knocked out the generator ourselves, made the sacrifice. That would have stranded the Starflyer here. We could have killed it then. If it was in one of the trucks.

There were just so many unknowns and variables. Morton hated that.

His timer was seventeen seconds off. The wormhole closed before he expected, the slight glimmer behind the pressure curtain shrinking away unexpectedly early.

“Okay,” he told Adam. “Let’s hear it.”

It took the Institute thirty-two minutes to shoot down five of the remaining blimpbots after the fuel air bomb went off. Land Rover Cruisers tore through the streets of Armstrong City in twos and threes, never quite constituting a decent target by themselves. The teams would rendezvous in an open location where they could mass their firepower and slam it into the massive aging craft coasting above the rooftops.

It was easy enough for Keely to track them. She’d successfully crashed the city’s net, forcing the Institute to use encrypted radio. Transmission points were easy to track. Physically following them was more difficult. The streets were packed with people and vehicles, trying to get the injured to hospitals, forming rescue parties to pick through collapsed buildings. Lack of communications was a huge inhibitor. The emergency services had fallback radio, but they didn’t know where the worst areas were. It wasn’t just the district around 3F; the blimpbots that had been knocked out of the sky had caused tremendous damage where they crashed. Three of them had started street blazes.

The Institute troops didn’t care about any of the human problems. Their Cruisers drove through crowds and forced ambulances off the street; anyone who got in the way was shot at. When they did succeed in attacking a blimpbot it would fall to the ground, causing more deaths and damage.

Stig and the available clan warriors chased around after the Cruisers on bikes where they could. It was difficult, they couldn’t go plowing through crowds. They’d managed to wreck six Cruisers in total, at a cost of nine Guardians. He didn’t like the ratio.

“Convoy forming along Mantana Avenue,” Keely warned.

Stig checked his timer. There were eighteen minutes left before the wormhole closed. Above him stars were shining through the thinning rain clouds. “Okay, all mobile units, we’ll regroup at the 3F end of Levana Walk. Muriden, Hanna, slow them up as best you can. We’ll reinforce you immediately.” He braked the bike he’d commandeered, a Triumph Urban-retro45, and swung it in a sharp turn to head back down Crown Lane. Olwen, who was riding shotgun, slipped her ion pistols back into their holsters. “Did they get the bomb carrier?”