I saw Medea on the auspex. She was running clear of the spinney at the north end, breaking cover. It took me a moment to find her by eye. Just a dot in the long weeds. A bright dot. She was wearing her father's cerise jacket. I realised she must've come out into the open to give me a chance to set down and reach her. The thin trees in the spinney were far too tightly packed.
Las-bolts chased her. She turned and fired back with a handgun, still running.
You're clear! Get down1 .
I saw her turn, seeing where I was. Then she was hurled face first into the grass by a las-shot.
'Medea!' I accelerated hard, pushing us back into our seats. 'Aemos! Get ready with the side hatch!'
I got as close in to the patch of weeds where she had fallen as I dared. The down-thrust of the plane could cause serious injuries. We jolted hard as I set down, throwing the throttles to idle. Aemos was opening the hatch, but he was old and slow and scared. Eleena couldn't reach over because he was blocking her.
I leapt out, pushing Aemos back into his seat, and thumped down into the wet nettles and burry fex-grass. The night air was sudden and cold. Another flare bloomed above us, and I realised the echoing spit I could hear was the enemy guns discharging in my direction.
I ran forward, searching for her.
'Medea! Medea!'
Now I was on the ground, it was nigh on impossible to tell where in the thigh-high grass she'd fallen.
'Medea!'
A las-round stung the air to my left. The closest of the raiders, running across the paddock, was only a few dozen metres away.
I realised I was unarmed. I'd given my boltgun to Sastre, and Bar-barisater and the staff were stowed in the flier behind me.
No, I had Medea's Glavian needle pistol. It was still in my coat pocket. I dragged it out and fired, aiming it with both hands.
My first shot hit the nearest raider and he fell over into the grass. My second shot winged another and he too disappeared into the rough scrub.
I glanced at the needler's mechanical dial. Two rounds left.
Bending low, I searched the grass with increasing frenzy as shots whined in close.
'Medea!'
And there she was, face down in the thick scrub. There was a bloody, burned hole in the back of her silk jacket.
I dragged her up and threw her limp body over my shoulder. The autopistol she had been using slipped heavily from her slack hand.
I stooped and grabbed it. The clip was half-full.
I swung round, trying to keep her from falling, and fired the autopistol wildly at the advancing enemy, relishing the satisfying roar and recoil of the hefty solid-slug weapon. Needle guns were elegant and deadly, but you barely knew you'd fired them.