Playing God(118)

Cabal shook his head. “I do owe you, Arron, but making a run out to the enemy ships across an aquatic war zone, it is not worth it. It's just not.”

Arron licked his lips. He should have known. Cabal had never been exactly altruistic. “What would make it worth it?”

“What?” Cabal's forehead wrinkled.

“What would make it worth it?” asked Arron urgently. “My friend, she's a senior with Bioverse. She can pull more strings than a nest of spiders. What would make the run worth it?”

The incredulity on Cabal's face bled off into consideration. “A trip back to Sol.”

“Easy. There's ships back and forth all the time.”

“You shouldn't sound so desperate, Arron.” His mouth twisted. “It makes it hard to believe you can do what you're saying.”

“Come on, Cabal.” Arron tried to force some easy camaraderie into his voice. “You know me.”

“Yeah, I do.” Arron was taken aback by the irony in his tone. “And I'll bet you're willing to swear to me she's got pull with the Mars colony trade council, too.”

This time, Arron's grin was completely genuine. “Let's put it this way. Help me, and you'll be saving one of the daughters of the founding family.”

Cabal gave a low whistle. “You've got a Shin t'Theria? Here? What have you been doing?”

“I told you, there was a mix-up.”

“Yeah, right. Okay,” Cabal looked across the harbor. The armored transports pulled away from the dock. Another flight of planes screamed overhead. “Okay, get them down here. I'll get the engines going so we can get out fast. The more we delay, the uglier the way out is going to get.”

I'm with you there. “Okay, but one thing, Cabal. Have you got any spare clean-suits on board?”

Cabal actually gave him a small smile. “Anything else, Mon-sewer?”

Arron shrugged. “A couple bottles of water and some carbo-protein rations, if you've got any. And a medikit.”

Cabal gave a startled laugh. “Suits and supplies and a suicide run. Hagopian, she'd better be Shin t'Theria.”

Arron grinned. “I swear on my doctoral thesis.”

“I suppose I can accept that,” Cabal sounded warier than Arron would have liked. “Okay, let's get you your goodies.”

The planes were still flying when Arron emerged from Cabal's boat, freshly clean-suited and with a backpack of supplies slung over his shoulder. He climbed the ladders up to the street and found his narrow pass-through. He was halfway along it, wincing as his helmet grated against the building's cement wads, when he heard the whistle, the screams, the bass rumbles, and the multilayered sounds of destruction that meant the bombs had started falling on Mrant Chavat.

Arron cursed and tried to move faster. The cement dragged at his new clean-suit, slicing into the organic. Another bomb fell. The ground trembled, and the buildings on either side of him swayed. He cursed again and pulled himself out into the street.

It was deserted. Everyone from this quarter was where they needed to be. He saw a dust cloud farther inland, and the remains of one of the major bridges. Firelight reflected on the buildings that still stood.

Don't stand here gaping. You've got to get Lynn and Res out of this!

He forced himself into a run. Planes roared and screamed. Whistles, crumps, bangs, the tattered sound of fires filled the world. Arron tried to block it out and concentrate on which way he was going.

He turned onto the nameless street that held the market building. The smell of dust and burning worked its way through his helmet. Arron looked up.

The market building wasn't in its place. Instead, there was a pile of rubble with broken girders sticking up through it and sparking wires bristling here and there.

“No!” He ran to the mound. He grabbed a stone and heaved it aside. He dug his hands into the dirt, flinging it every which way. He threw back more stones, and more dirt.

“Sister, Sister,” said a Getesaph voice. “It's all right. The building was empty.”

Arron stared at the owner of the voice, a stooped mother with her grown daughters beside her. “It wasn't empty. There was a mother and daughter in there. I told them to wait in there.”

The mother blinked. Without another word, she and her daughters lunged at the pile of rubble, lifting rocks and scooping dirt. Arron clawed and scrabbled at the stones, sending them rolling down the mound.

This is not happening. This can't be happening. I got help. We were going to be all right. We were getting out. It was going to be okay.

More sisters joined the effort, digging, passing stones down to each other, getting the electrical wires guided away from the girders, pressing their ears to the ground. None of them seemed worried about his poisons. The cooperative spell had descended over them all, and the only thing that mattered was moving the mountain in front of them.