“Than serve you? Yeah, I would. So screw you and the horse you rode in on.”

  Philip looked at the other two. All three raised their phasors higher, fingers on the firing studs.

  As they pressed down, I clicked the shield generator.

  Phasor beams lanced out, struck the energy field, and scattered into harmless light. The shield shimmered, holding strong for the moment, although I noticed the power bar literally dropping before my eyes. This thing couldn’t take a lot of phasor shots, that was clear. Did they know that?

  “Oh, Bayard,” Philip said, shaking his head. “You should have listened—”

  His eyes went wide as he saw I wasn’t dying or even hurt.

  I raced toward them, the shield crackling where residual energy dissipated. The three Homo habilis started backing up, their hairy faces showing fear as they continued to beam.

  “Quick, flee!” Philip shouted, fumbling for something in his suit—a teleport activator probably.

  Then it was too late, as I was among them. With my fists still protected by the shield, I struck their hands. The phasors went flying, clattering across the floor.

  Then I touched the belt, and the shield flickered off.

  “Okay,” I said, “now we’re going to take care of business. You’re going to answer my questions.”

  All three Philips glanced at each other. I didn’t like that look. They were planning something sneaky.

  I kicked the phasors away, sending them sliding across the floor, then I aimed my pulse rifle at them. “Each of you lay flat on the floor. Now!”

  “Well, well, well,” my Philip started to say.

  I couldn’t afford to screw around with them. I fired the pulse rifle, putting a hole at Philip’s feet.

  “On your stomach, pal, or I’m drilling you next time.”

  The three dropped flat.

  “All right,” I said, keeping the rifle on them. “Here’s how this is going to—”

  The floor shuddered and dust started falling from the ceiling.

  “What did you just do?” I shouted.

  My Philip looked up, and I saw confusion in his eyes. “This isn’t us, Bayard, I swear it.”

  There was another shudder, stronger this time. In the distance, I heard the shriek of tearing metal. Something was going on, and I had a feeling we were about to find out what.

  -42-

  The floor bucked, throwing me off balance. Dust rained from the ceiling as ancient support beams groaned. What in the heck was causing this?

  The three Philips scrambled to their feet, their hairy hands fumbling at their EVA suits. I saw small devices—no bigger than car key fobs—appear in their grips.

  “Drop those!” I shouted, bringing up the pulse rifle.

  “Too late, Bayard,” Philip said, his thumb already pressing what must have been the activation stud.

  The air around all three began to shimmer as sparkles of light danced across their bodies.

  I fired. Screw them! But the pulse beam went wide as another tremor shook the subterranean chamber and I staggered. Chunks of concrete crashed down between us.

  “You still don’t recognize me, do you?” Philip’s voice was already fading, becoming ethereal as the teleportation took hold. His features twisted into something ugly, bitter and triumphant all at once. “I was on Chaunt II when you stranded my people, you clod!”

  What was he saying? He was the same little Homo habilis, Philip A-3, that I’d met years ago on Earth and worked with on Chaunt II?

  “I destroyed your army on Mu, and I brought you here to die. And you’re NOT—”

  Then he was gone. In fact, all three of them, vanished in the last sparkle of teleportation light.

  All around me, metal shrieked as the walls twisted and buckled. The ceiling sagged and then a section of it collapsed twenty feet to my left. The impact sent a shockwave through the floor that knocked me to the floor.

  I rolled, the heavy pack making that hard, and came up running. I headed for the stairs I’d used to get down here. Behind me, I could hear the cascade of destruction spreading: one collapse triggering another as centuries-old supports failed under stresses they weren’t meant to handle.

  A support beam fell, crashing and blocking my path. I jumped, grabbed it, and hauled myself over as the floor behind me gave way with a roar. I didn’t look back, as that would only show me how close death was.

  Then the floor tilted and I was running uphill, gravity working against me as the entire sublevel shifted. My boots slipped on dust and debris. I went down on one knee, but caught myself with my free hand. The other held the little green light stick. The pulse rifle dangled from the leather strap, nearly choking me.

  Despite all that, I lunged for the door handle, grabbed it, and yanked. The door had jammed! No, the frame had warped from the structural stress. I could see a gap, could see the stairwell beyond, but the door wouldn’t budge.

  Behind me, the subterranean structure was eating itself. I could hear multiple collapses now, each one closer than the last.

  I dropped the light stick, unhooked the baan from my belt, and activated it. The blue plasma blade hummed to life, throwing better light than the chemical stick.

  I carved through the doorframe in three quick cuts, kicked the warped door, and squeezed through onto the stairwell.

  That was just in time, too. The room I’d been in ceased to exist in a thunderous implosion of concrete and steel, throwing me against a wall.

  I groaned, stunned, trying to get my bearings.

  The stairwell wasn’t much better. Cracks had spider-webbed up the walls and then they shook so hard I could hardly stand.

  I looked at the anti-grav belt still strapped around my waist. I clicked the switch and floated into the air, my boots leaving the cracked concrete steps. The belt’s hum was barely audible over the destruction around me. I worked the directional controls, angling myself up.

  I didn’t have far to go, but on foot, it probably would have been impossible, especially with the bulky backpack on.

  I hit a wall, hard, the impact driving the air from my lungs. The pack’s straps dug into my shoulders. For a horrible second, I thought the shield generators inside had been crushed. But the pack still felt solid, still had its shape.

  Now I zoomed up, and squeezed through the original trapdoor hatch. The ground around me was shaking like crazy.

  I continued to float, but doing it just above the ground. Below me, the research facility’s death throes must have been reaching their crescendo. Would all the levels collapse and create a crater?

  I floated higher until the ruins of Ploor stretched in every direction. Somewhere out there, Philip A-3 and his two companions were doing something to get ready for me. I had no doubt about that.

  Philip said he’d destroyed my army on Mu. Did that mean he’d been responsible for the Saddoth dart riflemen? Could he have worked with Omilcar and known the obelisk would send me to this hell world?

  Why would Philip A-3 in particular have done all that? We’d parted as friends. The Accelerationists had lost and his Traditionalists had won. Yeah, Livi had killed A-1 or A-2, and I’d killed the other. A-3 had never seemed to mind that, though.

  He’d seemed very bitter just a moment ago. Would he have done all that for vengeance? I snorted. All the Philips seemed full of spite and vengeance. I shook my head. He’d just made his biggest mistake by telling me he was still alive.

  I’d survived that, and—

  I pulled out Gorthak’s map, finding the obelisk’s location. According to this, it was five miles through some of the most dangerous parts of Ploor.

  Philip could have teleported anywhere in the city.

  I checked the anti-grav belt’s power indicator. It was at fifty-eight percent. That should easily be enough to get me to the obelisk. I knew it was time to go home, even if I had to leave Philip A-3 alive for now.

  I rose into the air, gaining altitude until I was high enough to see the city’s layout better. There—I could make out a structure that could be an obelisk, a dark thing against the yellow sky. Knowing where to look for it helped a tone.

  I set course for it, flying low and fast, using buildings for cover.

  This was it, baby, and I was ready for anything, but the main thing was to leave this hellhole planet.

  -43-

  The anti-grav belt lifted me above Ploor’s skeletal ruins, and for a moment, I felt almost free. The yellow sky pressed down like always, but up here, I had space, options, a clear line of sight to the obelisk standing dark against the horizon.

  The moment lasted about thirty seconds.

  Movement caught my eye, three shapes rising from behind a collapsed skyscraper two blocks east. They spread out into a loose V-formation. That had to be Philip A-3 and his two companions.

  I had no doubt they’d retrieved weapons, but what gave them the confidence to face me out in the open like this? Might they have something that could absorb pulse beams?

  There was no sense being too cocky about this. So I banked left, dropping altitude to put a half-collapsed tower between us. The anti-grav belt responded smoothly, but I was learning its limits. Sharp turns cost power. Rapid altitude changes cost more. I had to be smart about this, especially as this thing was likely very old and might not keep its charge for long.

  Then a phasor beam sizzled past my head, close enough that I felt the heat.

  If I turned on the shield generator while using the anti-grav unit, would the one cancel out the other? Might Philip know the answer to that? I recalled how Livi had said they were the smartest among us. They were smart, but not always wise.

  Another beam flashed past, this one closer yet. I bet they were wearing their targeting shades as Philip had done on Earth when he downed jets with his phasor.

  I dove, and the belt strained as I threaded through a blown-out window, across an empty floor, and out the other side. Behind me, I heard the characteristic whine of phasor fire punching through concrete.

  The little buggers were faster than I’d expected. The two companion Philips flanked wide while A-3 came straight at me. Wasn’t that a classic pincer move? If I weren’t careful, they’d soon have me boxed.

  It was time to test the shield with the anti-grav in place. My fingers found the activation switch. I hesitated for another half-second longer and then pressed it.

  The shimmer appeared around me, the heat-distortion effect. It felt like wearing a second skin made of static electricity. I had a feeling that was due to the anti-grav belt. Here was the thing, though; I was still flying.

  One of them fired.

  The phasor beam hit my shimmering shield and scattered, the energy dissipating across the field in ripples of light.

  Then the shield around me flickered.

  I felt the generator grow warm against me. The shimmer weakened visibly. Another shot hit, and I actually felt heat through the field. Not much, but enough to know the shield was failing fast.

  The third shot made the generator vibrate violently against me. Then the shield collapsed.

  That was quick, and told me a lot.

  I deactivated the useless shield and dropped hard, diving between two leaning buildings. The passage was maybe fifteen feet wide and choked with debris and the rusted shells of vehicles.

  Phasor fire chased me down. One beam clipped my shoulder, and I smelled burning leather. The impact spun me sideways. I over-corrected, slammed into a wall, and bounced off with my shoulder throbbing. It was a good thing I’d been slowing just then, and even better that I hadn’t smacked my head. I wasn’t wearing a helmet, and this seemed like a good spot for one.

  I poured on speed, racing through the passage. Behind me, I heard the Philips arguing: high-pitched monkey chatter in their native language.

  I hadn’t perfected the art of firing back while flying. These belts were different from what I’d used on Chaunt II. I’d been a terror then. Maybe the radiation poisoning was already affecting my thinking and reflexes. I had to change this up, though. Being a punching bag wasn’t going to win me the fight.

  Ahead was a partially collapsed complex. From what I could see, the upper floors had fallen into the lower ones, creating a maze of broken concrete and twisted steel.

  I aimed for a gap in the structure’s side and shot through.

  Inside the floors had collapsed onto each other at crazy angles. Support beams jutted like broken bones.

  I killed my forward momentum, grabbed a beam, and swung myself behind a collapsed section of floor. Then I deactivated the anti-grav belt.

  There was silence except for my pained breathing and the settling groans of the structure.

  I waited.

  Then I heard the telltale hum of anti-grav belts approaching from multiple directions. They’d split up to come at the structure from different angles. That was bad and good tactics on their part.

  “He must have gone inside,” one of them said, his voice carrying. “I saw him enter from the south face.”

  “He must be trying to hide.”

  “Bayard doesn’t hide. He must be trying to reach the obelisk on foot. His belt might have given out.”

  He was a smart little bastard, but why did he talk so loud that I could hear him?

  They landed above me, their boots scraping on concrete.

  I checked my anti-grav belt’s charge: 29%. It was lower than I’d expected. I doubted I could fly all the way to the obelisk now. I’d save power for when I really needed it.

  I crept through the wreckage, using the collapsed floors as cover. My shoulder throbbed where the phasor beam had clipped me. The leather had protected me from serious burns, but I’d have a hell of a bruise.

  A gap in the structure’s north side offered an exit. I made it halfway there when a phasor beam punched through the floor six inches from my head. Concrete exploded, showering me with dust and fragments.

  “There!” one of them shouted.

  I fired a pulse beam and then turned and ran.

  Behind me, phasor fire tore up the structure. It didn’t seem they were aiming carefully, just throwing firepower at my last known position. Rays carved through support beams, punched through floors and ignited what little combustible material remained.

  I burst out of the north side, staggering under my heavy pack and clicked on the anti-grav belt. The ground dropped away as I shot forward, using the building as a shield.

  There was more phasor fire, but I was already clear, flying low and fast toward a cluster of ruins three blocks to the north.

  Behind me, the complex groaned. Then, with a thunderous roar, the entire structure collapsed. The Philips must have cut through too many supports with their wild phasor fire.

  I looked back in time to see three shapes zoom out of the collapsing building as they escaped the cascade of falling concrete.

  I aimed for a dense section of ruins ahead: narrow streets, lots of cover, bad sightlines. They couldn’t hit what they couldn’t see, right?

  I was twenty feet from landing in the ruins when my left boot caught a piece of hanging cable. My ankle twisted hard, and I went into an uncontrolled spin.

  I hit the ground hard, the anti-grav belt cushioning the impact but not preventing it. I landed on my side, the heavy pack driving into my ribs. Pain shot through my twisted ankle.

  I rolled, came up on my good foot, and hobbled into cover behind a collapsed wall.

  My ankle throbbed with each heartbeat. I sat down, unlaced my boot, and retied it tighter. The compression would help, and the stiff leather would act like a brace. It hurt like hell, but I could walk on it.

  I’d gutted out worse.

  The hum of anti-grav belts was getting closer again. They must be searching the area.

  I checked my belt’s charge: 21%. I’d used more than I thought in that last burst of speed.

  Looking northeast, I could see the obelisk maybe three miles away. That was walking distance; but not with three armed First Folk hunting me and with my bum ankle.

  I needed to be smarter about this. I needed to stop reacting and start thinking like a Marine.

  The ruins around me were dense. That made for good cover, multiple routes and lots of choke points. The Philips had better weapons and more people, but I knew urban combat. I’d trained for this in Bhutan, and then practiced it on half a dozen worlds already.

  It was time to stop running and to start fighting on my terms.

  I pulled out Gorthak’s map and studied the routes to the obelisk. Most of them cut through open ground at some point. That would make kill zones where the Philips could pin me down from above.

  But one route stayed in the ruins almost the whole way. It wound through what the map labeled as the “Old Market District,” a maze of collapsed stalls and residential blocks. There was lots of cover and thus lots of places to lose pursuers or set up ambushes if needed.

  It would take longer, but I’d get there alive.

  I folded the map, tucked it away, and started moving through the ruins, gingerly putting weight on my injured ankle. The pain was bad.

  I gritted my teeth and started moving toward whatever waited for me at the obelisk.

  -44-

  In the Old Market District, my boots crunched through merchandise that crumbled to dust at my touch.

  My ankle throbbed with each step, a hot pulse of pain that radiated up my calf. I’d tried hopping for a while, using my good foot, but that burned through energy too fast. Better to gut it out, keep moving and ignore the screaming nerves.

  I’d been navigating by Gorthak’s map, winding through the maze of ruins. The obelisk should be northeast, but the dense wreckage made straight-line travel nearly impossible. I had to zigzag, backtrack when routes dead-ended, and climb over obstacles that my ankle protested against.

  Above, I occasionally heard the hum of anti-grav belts. The Philips were searching, but the Market District’s collapsed canopies and overhangs made aerial spotting difficult. That was my only advantage right now.

  I reached an intersection where three streets converged. Gorthak’s map showed two possible routes from here. The direct path cut through what was labeled “Fountain Plaza”—open ground with no cover. The alternate route stayed in the ruins but added distance and thus time.