Miles Errant - Lois McMaster Bujold [150]
Mark rounded the curve and skidded to a halt before them with a hopeless cry. He turned, stepped, stopped, turned again like an animal in a trap. The right side of his face was streaked red, his ear was edged with oozing yellow-white blisters, and the stench of burnt hair crept faintly through the air.
"Now what?" asked Miles.
Mark's voice was high and stretched. "There's some painted lunatic back there after me with a plasma gun! They've taken over the next watchtower—"
"Did you see Quinn anywhere?"
"No."
"Miles," said Ivan in puzzlement, "our guys wouldn't carry plasma arcs on an antipersonnel mission like this, would they? Not in the middle of a critical facility like this—they'd not want to risk damaging the machinery—"
"Painted?" said Miles urgently. "Like how? Not—not face paint like a Chinese opera mask, by chance?"
"I don't know—what a Chinese opera mask looks like," panted Mark, "But they—well, one—had colors solid from ear to ear."
"The ghem-commander, no doubt," Miles breathed. "On formal hunt. They've upped the bid, it seems."
"Cetagandans?" said Ivan sharply.
"Their reinforcements must have finally arrived. They must have picked up my trail at the shuttleport. Oh, God—and Quinn went that way . . . !" Miles too turned in a circle, and swallowed panic back to the pit of his stomach where it belonged. It must not be permitted to rise to the level of his brain. "But you can relax, Mark. They don't want to kill you."
"The hell they don't! He shouted, 'There he is, men!' and tried to blow my head off!"
Miles's lips peeled back on a dirty grin. "No, no," he caroled soothingly. "Merely a case of mistaken identity. Those people want to kill me—Admiral Naismith. It's just the ones on the other end of the tunnel who want to kill you. Of course," he added jovially, "neither of them can tell us apart."
Ivan made a derisive sputter.
"Back this way," said Miles decisively, and led on at a run. He swung into the transverse corridor and skidded to a halt before the outside access hatch. Ivan and Mark galloped up behind.
Miles stood on tiptoe, and gritted his teeth. According to the control readout, the tide had now risen higher than the top of the hatch. This exit was sealed by the sea.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Miles slapped his wrist comm channel open. "Nim!" he called.
"Sir!"
"There's a Cetagandan covert ops squad in Tower Seven. Strength unknown, but they have plasma arcs."
"Yes, sir," came Nim's breathless voice. "We just found them."
"Where are you and what can you see?"
"I have a pair of soldiers outside each of the three tower entrances, with a backup in the bushes in the parking area. The—Cetagandans, you say, sir?—just pumped some plasma blasts out the main corridor as we tried to enter."
"Anybody hit?"
"Not yet. We're flat."
"Any sign of Commander Quinn yet?"
"No, sir."
"Can you get a fix on her wrist comm?"
"It's somewhere in the lower levels of this tower. She doesn't respond and it's not moving."
Stunned? Dead? Was her wrist even still in her wrist comm? No telling.
"All right," Miles took a breath, "put in an anonymous call to the local police. Tell them there's armed men in Tower Seven—maybe saboteurs trying to blow up the Barrier. Make it convincing—try to sound scared."
"No problem, sir," said Nim earnestly.
Miles wondered how nearly the plasma beam had parted Nim's hair. "Until the constables arrive, keep the Cetagandans sealed in the tower. Stun anyone who tries to exit. The locals can sort them out later. Put a couple of point men down in Tower Eight to seal that end, have them work north and drive the Cetagandans back if they try to exit south. But I think they'll head north." He put his hand over the comm and added to Mark, "Chasing you." He lifted his palm and continued to Nim, "As the police arrive, pull back. Avoid