Man O' War, стр. 59
"Down!" shouted the environmentalist. Letting himself drop, he pulled Hawkes down along with him as another fusillade went over their heads.
"There's someone out there with a bearing launcher."
"What?"
"It's a compression weapon—kind that fires only small ball bearings."
"BBs," exclaimed Hawkes. "An air rifle. Of course! No oxygen needed for combustion. But judging from the holes it's putting through the tunnel plastic, BBs or not, it can rip a hole in our suits just the same."
"Right. And they've got themselves positioned somewhere out there between us and the door. We can't get back in, and security can't come out to rescue us."
Another barrage slammed into the sand drift to which Jarolic had maneuvered the two of them. Both he and the ambassador looked their situation over. It did not look good to either of them. They were a pair of slow-moving targets, a long way from safety. A few holes in their suits and they would be dead before they could get back inside. They could not see the enemy—had only a vague idea of his position. And it seemed likely from the number of shots being fired that there might be more than one of them. Hawkes's mind rolled over all their options, wondering what they could do.
His first impulse had been wrong. Not used to life in a pressure suit, he had forgotten for an instant how slowly they forced one to move. Anything moving at that speed was an easy target.
Then the tactical section of his mind told him, Don't move at that speed.
A hard smile crossing his face, Hawkes indexed his wrist-link, putting himself in contact with the security team in the bunker. He quickly alerted them to the situation outside, then ordered,
"I want you to scope out their location, then lay down a pattern of covering fire."
"We understand, Mr. Ambassador. We'll signal you when it's safe to return to the bunker."
"That would be fine—if I planned on returning."
"Sir . . . ?" Hawkes did not bother to explain himself, answering only, "You have your orders, mister." Then, turning to Jarolic, he said, "First off, thank you for helping me put things together out here."
"Anytime."
"I might hold you to that. Second, though, thanks for saving my life—again. You're a handy fellow to keep around."
"Your point, Mr. Ambassador?"
"When the security people start firing back at our friends, I'm going to make a move toward bringing them down."
"What?" exclaimed Jarolic. "In one of these suits? You're not going to get very far very fast."
"I am," answered Hawkes, reaching down toward his left boot, "once I get rid of these." With a flick, the ambassador released the weight plate on that foot, then moved to his right boot and released the other. Turning to Jarolic, he said, "You with me—or have you had enough heroics for one day?"
"We wear these weights for a reason. If you don't keep yourself stabilized, you'll go down fast—helpless." His eyes flashing toward the broken rocks all around them, he added, "Which means you probably won't get up again."
Hawkes nodded. "It's all right. You stay here. I've been wanting to get my hands on this bunch for a while now."
The younger man stared through the dark glass of his helmet, straining to see Hawkes's eyes. As he did, he put a hand on the ambassador's shoulder, shook his head, and said, "You must have been a real hell-raiser in your day."
"You want to see some hell get raised—you stick with me. This day isn't over yet."
Reaching down to his boots, careful not to raise his head above the level of the protecting dune, Jarolic released his weights, saying, "Then, let's race to sundown."
Before Hawkes could reply, the booming report of the security men's weapons echoed across the barren plain. Raising his helmet just enough to see where their shots were landing, the ambassador calculated the kind of arc he and his companion would have to set to sneak up on that position. Then, steeling himself, he gulped down a deep breath of his suit's pure atmosphere and shouted, "Let's do it!"
The two men made their way to their feet and started bounding across the Martian surface. Both moved in staggeringly long leaps, covering hundreds of yards in just seconds. It was a speed unknown to either of them, helped in part by Mars's lesser gravity, in part by its atmosphere's lack of resistance. In less than a minute, they had raced down the length of the ruined tunnel and were rounding the dome.
Trusting luck, and not daring to decrease their speed, the two barreled around the end of the dome, charging straight on. Instinctively, both headed toward the point drawing the security team's main fire. Their weightless boots slid across the surface of the sand, forcing them to bob and weave to maintain their balance. A fall at that point would not only ruin their chances of surprising their enemies, but—as Jarolic had implied earlier—with all the brittle, sharp-edged cinders littering their path, might prove fatal as well.
Halfway from the curve of the dome, the two men split apart. They knew bunching together only gave their foes an easier target.
If they see you, Hawkes thought to himself. And the whole idea here is to not be seen—so, get moving, old man. Get moving, and keep moving, and don't be seen until you want to be.
The ambassador bent low, compacting his form, running all out. As he moved, he indexed his wrist-link, ordering the security men to cease fire. Jarolic saw the motion and bent low as well, pouring on the speed. Both men knew they would be at the dune protecting the enemy in a matter of seconds.
Then, thought Hawkes. Then we get some answers.
That mean you won't be killing them like you did Stine? his cynical side joked with him. A vision of Marlel's body jammed in the doorway of the ruined compression chamber flashed