Thoughts such as those were luxuries she did not afford herself until she had reached a position above the cove, well behind the battle zone. And—no coincidence—also behind the line of camera-carrying buckies recording the heroic rearguard action.
She looked down at the lower camp. A sunrise, in weather like this, was too much to ask for, but the sky was getting brighter all the time, and was now illuminating the beach more effectively than the towering Aitken loop on the barge. Perhaps in response to the sounds of battle, half a dozen or so inflatable boats had emerged from the flooded hull of Ark Darwin and begun making their way in, each carrying a few people who appeared to be wearing helmets. Good. But, annoyingly to Kathree, they were maintaining some distance. Sonar Taxlaw was standing on the boulder waving them off. She’d been joined by Einstein, who was doing likewise. That was about to become an intolerably crowded boulder, because Tyuratam Lake was wading out to join them with that pizza box under one arm. He had managed to equip himself with a dry suit, which probably made the experience a good deal more comfortable for him.
Cantabrigia Five and Arjun were on the shore, facing out to sea, as if there were not a pitched battle going on a few hundred meters above them.
Two of the buckies dislodged themselves from their positions above Kathree and began rolling down the slope like wire-frame boulders. At first this seemed uncontrolled, like an avalanche, but then they began to stretch and deform in a way that accommodated the rocky ground rushing beneath them, and slowed to a mincing style of descent. One of them perched on a spot where it could get a clear view of the entire cove and the other picked its way down to the sand, angling for close-ups, apparently. Cantabrigia Five turned toward it and advanced a few steps. Facing squarely into its camera, she began speaking words that Kathree had no hope of hearing at this distance.
Kathree saw all of this while leaning back against the steep pitch of the inner crater wall. Just above her was a line of vegetation that had taken root along its brow, where the ground was level and the sunlight was as plentiful as it would ever get in these parts. It spread for some tens of meters to her left and to her right, walling off the cove from the bog and the high country above.
Some loud grunting noises, and the sound of a lot of little sticks getting damaged, caused her to look sharply to her left just in time to see two large men, locked together, erupt through the wall of brush and tumble out into the open. Since the slope below was steep, they rolled together for several meters down toward the beach before the larger one—Beled—was able to lash out with one foot and plant it downslope, bringing both of them to a stop. At the same time he pushed up with both arms, shoving his opponent—a Neoander—completely off the ground, in a bid to flip him backward and send him tumbling down even farther. But the Neoander seemed to anticipate this and made his much longer arms whip around Beled’s torso, scrabbling for purchase on his rib cage.
Perhaps 50 percent of Beled’s body was still covered by ambots locked together to form a patchy carapace. The Neoander’s right hand came down on a cluster of them that was protecting Beled’s armpit, and those obliged their owner by delivering a clearly audible shock into the offending hand. This disrupted whatever grapple the Neoander had been attempting. Still, Beled’s gambit had basically failed, and he ended up toppling backward as his opponent’s momentum overthrew him. When he understood this he stopped fighting it and bent his knees, turning what might have been an ungainly sprawl into something more like a back somersault that employed the Neoander’s stomach as an impact cushion. Kathree heard a snapping noise but was a little slow to understand it as a rib being broken. The Neoander, on his back, involuntarily tried to contract into a fetal position, bringing his head up into Beled’s descending fist. The contact between the delicate structures of the modern hand and the massive bone arches of the Neanderthal skull was unequal and there was more cracking, to Beled’s disadvantage. Still, the blow gave the Neoander a jolt, which was enough time for Beled finally to draw a knife from a sheath and press it against the other’s throat. He kept pressing until the Neoander’s head was against the ground.
The fighting—at least that part of it—was over and Kathree was able for the first time to process a full image of Beled’s state: bloody, half-naked, spitting teeth, breathing much faster than he ever did when sprinting flat out on a treadmill. Anyway he was alive, and the fight was over for him, unless he chose to neutralize this opponent by cutting his throat. Which seemed inadvisable since he was now under the direct coverage of a bucky with a camera in it. The ancient Teklan-Neoander fights of asteroid mining lore might have ended with throat cutting, but not this one.
Other things happened in the bog that she did not see. Langobard emerged with Roskos Yur slung over his back in a fireman’s carry, and began tromping down the slope in some haste, not looking back. Beled, watching, called out a warning to him. In the same instant Kath heard movement from the bog and saw a human silhouette—not a Neoander—vault through the gap that had been torn in it by Beled and his opponent, and begin running after Bard. She was a squat woman with close-cropped hair, in military kit—a classic B. Kathree aimed her katapult at her and fired an ambot, then two more, but all of them somehow missed—the B was evidently wearing some kind of armor that was good at spoofing this particular model, and so she could stand there all day shooting at her and nothing would happen. Still, the B heard the katapult go whang and sensed the ambots zipping around her, which was enough to stall her for a moment. She turned toward Kathree. The look on her face suggested that she had not expected to see a female Moiran. As she was taking in this extraordinary spectacle, a fist-sized rock struck her on the downhill side of her head and, to all appearances, killed her.
Kathree looked down the slope to see Beled following through from having thrown the rock. He had transferred his unbloodied knife to his broken hand, and now shifted it back. Nearby was Bard, who had paused in his headlong sprint toward the beach and turned around to see what Beled was throwing rocks at. Blood seemed to be draining out of him.
On second thought, it was draining out of Sergeant Major Yur.
The Neoander that Beled had been restraining rolled up to his feet. Just as rapidly he went down again, and a katapult whang traveled up to Kathree’s ears. When Langobard turned around, she saw that Roskos Yur, badly mauled but still conscious, had brought his weapon into play with his free hand.
If there were other Red forces to be accounted for, they were either dead, unconscious, or in retreat toward the mountains.
For the first time in what seemed like a while—but had probably been just a few seconds of elapsed time—Kathree directed her attention to what was going on below.
The rubber boats from the ark had made a decision to avoid the middle of the cove. Instead they were splitting to either side to make landfall on the prongs formed by the crater’s rim. From there, they could hike around if need be.
A person was walking out of the water.
TY HANDED THE PIZZA BOX UP TO EINSTEIN AND TOLD HIM TO OPEN it and to keep what was inside of it dry and near to hand. The dry suit was doing a fine job of keeping his legs warm and so he decided to remain below, thigh deep in the water next to the islet. His time in the war had left him with distrust, bordering on disgust, with people like Cantabrigia Five who were always thinking about the narrative. But that way of thinking was infectious. He saw the little scene on the islet through the eyes not of Tyuratam Lake, but of a video camera beaming coverage to the ring. And he thought it looked perfect the way it was: the small conical spike of glass, grubby around the waterline with wave-washed sand, supporting two people: Einstein with the pizza box, and, standing next to him with a finger hooked through his belt loop, the Cyc with one headphone on and the other off. In fact he attended so closely to the image that he almost missed the main event. The look on the others’ faces told him he had best turn around and look out to sea.