McCade rubbed a bleary, bloodshot eye, and looked again. It was still there. Maybe he wasn't hallucinating after all. Maybe there really was a big yellow sail coming his way. He'd been watching it for some time now. It had gradually grown from a drifting dot to a large splash of color. The sail was triangular in shape like those used on any planet with enough water to float a boat. But according to Mara's maps they weren't near any water, so the sail must belong to something else. The sail suddenly flip-flopped. Whatever it was had just tacked, and was now headed directly at him. The Wind Riders again? Coming to finish them off? Or some of Mara's friends—coming to the rescue. Which? There was no way to tell.
They had discussed the possibility of hiking to the next way station, but Mara had objected. She felt they were better off staying where they were. In her opinion McCade's dream proved that the Walkers knew where they were, and knew they needed help. Something about the way she said it made McCade wonder if she wasn't just a bit jealous. After all, she was a Walker herself, but for some reason he'd had the dream. Anyway they'd agreed to wait for a while and see if some help came along. Now somebody was coming . . . and the question was who.
He pulled back the corner of the emergency tarp and touched Mara's shoulder. Rico woke in midsnore, and jumped to his feet, while the other two were still untangling themselves. "What's up, sport?"
McCade nodded toward the plain. "We've got company."
"Bandits?"
McCade shrugged. "Maybe . . . maybe not. Let's see what Mara thinks."
Mara had overheard, and wasted no time scrambling up onto the Nuag. She gave a whoop of excitement, turned, and slid to the ground. "I told you they'd help us! They sent a wind wagon. Grab your stuff and let's go. We'll have to jump it on the run. Once they stop it takes 'em forever to get going again."
Each grabbed their weapon and a pack prepared earlier, slipping their arms through the straps as they followed Mara out onto the plain. In spite of her wound, Mara was way ahead of them. Phil had given her some kind of a painkiller and apparently it was working.
The sail was closer now, and McCade saw it was supported by a metal mast, which jutted upward from a low boxy platform. Since the wind wagon was coming straight at them it was hard to see much more, but it was certainly fast, bearing down on them at twenty or thirty miles an hour.
Phil frowned. "Aren't they going to slow down?"
Mara laughed. "'They' are an 'it,' and the answer is 'not much.' Come on!" And with that she started running again.
There was little the others could do but follow. As he broke into a run McCade decided he'd finally lost his mind. What a silly way to die. Run over by a landlocked sailboat on some rim world! Claudia would love it. She wouldn't even pay a bounty on him. That at least would have cost her something. It was close now, so close he could see the welds holding it together, and hear the big sail slapping against a stay. Just as he decided his only chance lay in falling flat and letting it roll over him, he heard a klaxon go off, and the machine began to turn. It was starting to tack!
"Now!" Mara yelled, leaping for the short ladder which was welded to the hull. Three quick steps and she was over the top, turning to shout encouragement at the others. Phil went into partial augmentation. He took three giant strides and jumped. Huge paws caught the top edge of the hull, while powerful muscles pulled him up, and over. Rico, meanwhile, had managed to jump onto the lowest step of the ladder. He hung on with one hand, stretching the other out towards McCade.
"Come on, ol' sport, you can make it."
But McCade knew Rico was wrong. He was running as fast as he could, and he still wasn't going to make it. Bit by bit the distance between him and Rico's outstretched hand grew larger. Then he heard a crack of sound, and the sail started to flap as it lost the wind. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the heavy boom swinging toward him. He jumped, wrapped his arms around the boom as it passed overhead, and swore as it picked up speed. He'd have to drop off when it passed over the hull, otherwise it would throw him off when it crossed over the far side and was jerked to a halt. Everything was a blur, so he closed his eyes, let go, and hoped for the best.
He landed on his pack. It broke his fall but knocked the wind out of him. The part of his mind not occupied with obtaining more oxygen suddenly realized that he'd lost his energy rifle. That wasn't exactly good news, but it was better than lying in the dirt, watching the wind wagon race away. He opened his eyes to find himself looking up at Rico. The wind tugged at Rico's hair and ruffled his beard. He wore a big grin. "Always showin' off. Maybe if you'd cut back on them cigars you could run a bit faster."
Still unable to speak due to a lack of oxygen, McCade offered the other man an ancient gesture. Rico laughed and helped him up.
The wind wagon had come about, and was making good time back across the plain. Now that he was on his feet McCade saw the hull was a large metal triangle. The sides were low but strong. The mast was made of metal, and was located about halfway down the wagon's length. A quick glance over the side confirmed his original impression that it was equipped with three wheels. Two were located on either side of the stern, and one in the bow, which was used for steering. The hull was about fifty feet across at its widest point, and seventy or eighty feet long. A network of wire stays supported the mast, while a host of lines snaked down through pulleys and power winches, to disappear into a sealed metal box. Since there was no crew in sight, and nowhere for them to hide, McCade assumed the metal box housed some sort of a computer, which controlled the ship via sensors and servo motors. The whole thing was scarred and pitted from countless collisions with windborne debris. Almost every square foot of sail showed signs of repair. The whole thing worked nonetheless.
"Well, what do you think?" Mara asked, gesturing toward the rest of the machine. McCade's reply was forestalled when a sudden gust of wind hit the sail, causing the left rear wheel to leave the ground, and throwing them off their feet. A few seconds later the computer made a minute correction and the wheel thumped back down.
McCade looked at Mara, and they both laughed until Mara grabbed her side, and said, "Enough . . . it hurts when I laugh."
As they helped each other up McCade said, "It's a bit treacherous, but it sure beats walking."
"Or watching Nuags rot in the sun," Mara agreed, brushing herself off. "Apparently this was the best the Walkers could come up with on short notice."
"I won't even ask how they knew we needed it," McCade said, looking around. "What are these rigs normally used for anyway?"
"Ore carriers," she replied, gesturing toward the bow. "And," she continued, "once you've built a wind wagon it's cheap to run. As you can see, they don't need any crew, and the computer's solar powered. Besides catching the wind, the sail also acts as a solar collector and, even with all our clouds, puts out more power than the computer can use."
"So why the Nuags then?" McCade asked, leaning back to look at the huge sail. "Why not use these babies instead?"
Mara smiled. "They're great out on the plains, but completely worthless in the hills and mountains. Which by the way is where we're headed." She pointed toward the distant horizon.
By squinting his eyes, McCade could just barely make out a dark smear above the plains, and beyond that a vague darkness that might have been mountains.
Hours passed, interrupted only by the hooting of the klaxon each time they tacked, and a somewhat spartan meal of emergency rations. Like the others, McCade passed the time by taking short naps, and then getting up to see how much progress they'd made since the last time he'd looked. Finally he stood to find that what had once been a dark smear had now resolved into low rolling foothills, and the darkness beyond them had indeed turned into mountains, which though rounded off by a million years of wind and rain, still reached up to hide their peaks in lowlying clouds. Now the sun was low in the sky, throwing softly rounded shadows out beyond the foothills, making even the Wind World's harsh landscape seem pretty.
"Is that smoke?" It was Rico, pointing off to the right.
McCade looked out beyond the bow, and sure enough, smoke was pouring up from the edge of the plain. Now Mara joined them and eyed the column of smoke with obvious concern. "It's coming from Trailhead, a small settlement, which also happens to be our destination. I can't imagine what's burning. The whole place is made out of shaped earth, reinforced with rock."
McCade noticed the smoke went straight up for several hundred feet before strong winds whipped it away. He had a pretty good idea what could have caused the smoke, but he hoped he was wrong. He'd seen smoke like that before. A glance in Rico's direction told him the other man had similar thoughts. They'd know soon enough.
Twenty minutes later the wind wagon's klaxon sounded three short blasts. There was a whine of servo motors and the clacking of winches as the computer started to lower the sail. At the same time the boom began to rotate, winding the sail around itself, creating a neat cylinder of fabric. Meanwhile the wagon slowly coasted to a stop. There were three similar craft moored a short distance away, and beyond them McCade could see the outskirts of the settlement. Low rounded warehouses and the like mostly, the kind of buildings that go with light industry. Behind them smoke billowed up to fill the sky and the crackle of flames was clearly heard. Now McCade was almost certain this was no ordinary fire.
They climbed over the side and helped Mara snap the mooring lines to the large eyebolts sunk into the plain for that purpose. Otherwise the large vehicle could be blown away by a sudden storm. Once the wagon was secure they followed her toward town. The sun was dipping behind the horizon, now, soon to disappear.
The flatness of the plain quickly gave way to a gentle slope. Their path was wide and unpaved but rock hard from constant use. Up ahead McCade could see the dim shapes of the outlying domes and hear the shouts of those fighting the fires. Smoke swirled everywhere, irritating his eyes and making it hard to breathe. They came to a stop when a middle-aged man with a blackened face and a grim expression appeared out of the smoke. He nodded in Mara's direction.
"Hello, Mara. So you're here. The Walkers sent word to expect you." There was no welcome in his voice or his eyes. They were angry and resentful. He turned to the others. "My name's Nick. Welcome to Trailhead . . . or what's left of it. I don't know what this is all about, but I sure hope it's worth it." And with that he turned his back on them and started back up the trail.
McCade looked at Mara and she shrugged. Silently they followed Nick up the trail. It didn't take long to see why he felt the way he did. For all practical purposes Trailhead was a memory. Many of the low earthen domes had been crushed. Others were surrounded by flames fed by some sort of liquid that burned with intense heat. As they reached the top of the low hill Nick stopped and pointed wordlessly down into the center of the settlement below. McCade looked and found his worst fears had come true.
Sprawled across the small valley was the long broken shape of an Imperial Intruder. There was no mistaking the ship's lethal ugliness. Intruders were specifically designed for landings under combat conditions, but the Wind World had turned this one into a pile of useless scrap. The fires which burned around it, and reflected off its polished surface, made it look like a vision from hell. Muffled explosions could be heard as internal fires found and set off stored explosives. Rivers of flame were born deep inside the ship to flow out and between the domes. Here and there figures darted through the flames, searching for survivors, salvaging what they could.
Mara turned away from the destruction and placed a hand on Nick's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Nick. I know that doesn't help, but please believe me, it's more important than you can imagine." She hesitated for a moment as if considering her options, and then spoke in a low, urgent voice, quickly outlining what was happening and why.
When she'd finished, much of the anger had disappeared from Nick's eyes, leaving only sadness behind. He nodded. "Yes, I'll do what I can. You'll have to catch those bastards before they can reach Chimehome."
"Catch them?" McCade and Mara asked together.
"Yes," Nick replied, anger flooding his features once more. "Right after the ship crashed, a hatch opened and an armed crawler rolled out. An officer, Major Tell, Tellor—something like that—asked me for directions to Chimehome, and like an idiot I told him. Then they took off. Didn't even try to help their own . . . much less ours."
The three men looked at each other. Major Tellor! Here. It certainly sounded like him. All three remembered the enjoyment in his eyes as he'd left them to die in the coliseum. Their situation had just gone from bad to worse.
"All right," McCade said grimly. "They've got a head start . . . and we've got to stop them before they reach Chimehome. Is there anything around here which can match that crawler for speed?"
Nick thought for a moment, and then shook his head. "No, we've got a few tractors for pushing ore around, but nothing to match that military job."
Mara shook her head. "Even if there was, we'd be crazy to race them, that crawler won't make it even halfway to Chimehome."
Nick nodded his agreement.
Seeing the doubt in McCade's eyes Mara said, "The planet will stop them. That's why we don't use crawlers ourselves. This world turns unprotected machinery into junk faster than you can bring it in. All we have to do is grab a couple of Nuags and plod along. They'll be waiting for us."
McCade had his doubts, but Mara seemed certain, and from what Nick said there wasn't much choice. Of greater concern was what lay ahead. Assuming Mara was correct, something nasty would eventually happen to the Imperial crawler, and as a result, they would run into Major Tellor and an undetermined number of marines. And knowing Tellor, his troops wouldn't be sitting around reading poetry to each other. They'd either be hiking toward Chimehome on foot, a less than pleasant experience on the Wind World, or, more likely, laying in ambush, hoping to acquire some new transportation. Like a couple of Nuags for example. With us thrown in as a bonus, McCade thought to himself. It wasn't a very pleasant thought.