All such thoughts left my head when we reached the observation dome, which offered an unobstructed view in every direction--a view that stretched the limits of my credulity even further.

Surrounding us was the panorama of the night sky, though I didn't have an opportunity to enjoy it: I could see at least five Geronimos--Apache Mark V military helicopters that had been adapted for use by local law enforcement as well as the FBI--in pursuit of our ship, their cannons spinning as they blasted glowing tracer rounds at us. In addition, there was a fleet of late-model Hummers coursing through the streets below, lights flashing and large-caliber mounted guns ablaze. From the look of things, I quickly calculated that we had only a few moments to live--especially as we weren't yet returning fire.

But then I noticed that as the bullets being fired at us reached the tapering, rounded fuselage of the ship--its pair of foldaway wings and its glowing "head" resembling nothing so much as a giant flying fish--most of them swerved badly off target. Tressalian read the puzzled look on my face (he was evidently as perceptive as his sister), then touched the collar of his own shirt and began to speak to Larissa through what I realized was a surgically implanted communications system that provided the two with a secure link to each other.

"Sister...? Yes, Dr. Wolfe's right here and watching anxiously. But remember, we're making directly for the coast, so there's no need for excessive--Larissa?" Tressalian took his fingers from his throat in resignation, then held a hand toward the scene being played out around us. "I suggest you observe, Doctor--this seems to be for your benefit..."

And with that, the large rail gun in the ship's turret opened fire, expelling flights of projectiles that were proportionately larger than the ones fired by Larissa's handgun. The varied pattern of destruction wrought by the gun as it spun from pursuer to pursuer was awesome to behold: a finely focused burst could remove a Hummer's wheel or a Geronimo's mounted gun, while a wider pattern could reduce both land and air units to so much shrapnel--and human body parts. All of this, or so Tressalian had said, was for my benefit: an effort by Larissa not only to impress me with her flying and combat skills but also, it seemed, to let me know what I had stumbled onto was some kind of mortal struggle. But over what?

Excitement, horror and, yes, some satisfaction (given that our pursuers were doubtless ultimately controlled by the same people who had killed Max) were registering inside me; yet I was still clearheaded enough to be curious. "Their bullets," I observed. "They're not reaching us."

PAGE  1  |  2  |  3  |  4  |  5  |  6  |  7  |  8