Harbinger

The sensor screen was larger than he had expected. Ganz’s drawing of the device had not been to scale, and it had led Qui

An idea occurred to him: I could just steal the active component and leave the power module. Just take the part that’s hard to get. Examining the device more closely, he realized that the top segment constituted the screen generator, and that once it was separated from the much larger and heavier power supply he would be able to carry it out on his own. He dug into the lower pockets along his pants leg, found the tools he needed, and set to work. Another quick scan registered no sign of power inside the device; it appeared to be inert. That was for the best, in Qui

No sooner had the cable come free than a scramble of data flooded his sca

His ears detected the muffled din of an alarm klaxon. Doors banged open against sheet-metal shelter walls. Ru

With the unmistakable crack of something breaking, the device struck whatever unseen piece of junk had found its way under Qui

“Hey, fellas,” he said, flailing in the muck to get himself upright. “I know this looks pretty bad, but—” One of the men drew what Qui

With his arms and legs windmilling as he struggled for traction on the greasy mud, his movement was so clumsy and erratic that the first phaser shot—whose tonal pitch Qui

Two more simultaneous phaser shots quickened Qui

Where’s the damn trail? Seconds seemed stretched by the adrenaline coursing through Qui

Now, unfortunately, it meant ru

His pursuers were getting closer. Time for tricks, he concluded. Several meters ahead, a sizable boulder offered him some cover. He reached the rock and dove to the ground behind it just before another volley of neon-blue phaser beams lashed across its pitted face. Fumbling through assorted bits of junk in his pockets, he found the detonator. The angry whine of another phaser blast bit off nearly a quarter of one side of the boulder that was shielding him. The odor of scorched carbon and iron reminded him of the stink of an empty pot left on a flame. The crackle of trampled underbrush resumed. They were coming.

He keyed the detonator switch.

Crimson flashes lit up the ink-black night, and a series of tooth-rattling concussive blasts provoked a mighty cacophony of startled noises from spooked animals—followed by the squeak and groan of splintered tree trunks jackknifing and collapsing under their own weight. Alarmed cries of “Fall back!” and “Get down!” mingled with the dull impacts of dozens of high-canopy trees, which dropped in an overlapping pattern carefully pla

Qui

Minutes later, rounding the crest of the hill to its steeper, rockier side, he clambered across loose chunks of flat stone toward the Rocinante. Beneath a sloped shale overhang, the ship looked at home in the shadows. Its center fuselage was shaped like a long, thin wedge. Attached to either side were ponderous warp nacelles, bulkier-looking than most and nearly two-thirds as long as the main hull section. Navigational fins, which normally were extended down at a slight angle from the nacelles, were folded upright into their landing configuration. Qui

Reaching under his belt, he found the security remote. His fingers were still shaking, from the panic response of almost being shot, as he keyed in the code to open the ventral gangway. The plank separated from the hull and descended with a hydraulic hiss. Plumes of vapor from leaky coolant coils tumbled down like the ghost of a waterfall as he climbed the ramp into his ship. Once inside, he pressed the ramp-closing switch on his way forward to the cockpit. With a sickly gasp and a grinding groan, it lifted shut behind him as he collapsed into his seat.