Descending Road - TWO STRANGE GREAT MOONS by Dana W. Paxson

TWO STRANGE GREAT MOONS

1563 4D

Grendel jolted himself from innerspace back to the understreet. The liftway doors hung, smashed open, on the shaft. The aliens, or whatever they were, hadn’t moved yet. He subvoked, Angie, what do you have?

“They’re waiting for supplies to arrive. Probably blasting grenades or andro neuroactives. Maybe fuel-air fog.”

So what are the choices?

“Get out, fast, and give this place up to them. You could leave me here as a gift; I’m already primed, and I’ll blow them back up the shaft. Or else you can stay and get chopped up or fried.”

I’m getting out. His leg shrieking pain at him, Grendel bellied his way backward to the doorway. The doors stood intact. A voice cut in.

Ezzar. “Rennie, what’s happened?” She wanted to come to him; they argued as he watched the shaft.

Angie said, her voice tense, “They’re moving down, and some are moving up. Hurry. I’m arming for self-destruct, right now.” He yelled at Ezzar, “Go! I’m right behind you! Don’t wait, just go!” He levered himself to a crouch, backing to the door, beamer ready. An object the size of his fist dropped out into the street; as it fell, Grendel fired.

The space erupted in silent solar flame. He staggered back, slamming into the doors, blinded. The doors gave way and he fell back.

Angie, what’s going on?

Silence. A scuffling and clanking from outside the doors. The last shot must have been a pulser — no helms or auto weapons would work now.

He got his feet under him again and reached rapidly along the passage until another steel door met his hands. His eyes stung, but now he could make out the faint impression of a handle against a dim light. The air blanketed him with heat. He didn’t hear Ezzar‘s voice. Good. Maybe at last she’s found some sense.

Time to give them a farewell. Goodbye, Angie, finish arming.

No answer now. He found his hand rifle in his carapiece. He counted the rounds. Two would be enough. When they come through, he’d blow Angie up in their faces. He took off his helm and pressed the manual-arming sequence in its rim.

Grendel rolled the helm down the passage to the first door. The helm orientation was bad; his shots might deflect before they hit the freshly-converted explosives.

The doors blew inward with a bang. Four beams pierced the passageway just as Grendel fired.

Death: the flame of one beam took his belly and spine in its teeth and shook them gently, the way a puppy might shake a rag its first time. He watched the tracks his bullets had left, with satisfaction. Yes, just where he wanted them, all that really mattered. Everything was going just the way he wanted it now. Ellichik would be out of their hands forever. Now if only Ezzar had gotten away safe, that would give him the greatest gift.

Innerspace: the thought snatched him up out of the passageway on the crest of a wave of heat, and he spread new wings many feet wide and soared into a dark green sky over vanishing red flame. That must be the explosion. Oh, Ezzar, don’t meet me here and pass on through, stay down in there and work at it, will you?

Two vast moons crowded each other just above an unending range of peaks behind him. Searching, he flew over jagged, spired mountains until he found a lower, smooth peak with a narrow vale in its flank, cut so that the two strange great moons cast chalky light its full length. In the deep end of the vale stood a spark of light.

There. He’d found the place. When Periliath had died in their tank so many years ago, he had found the vale and waited there for her, waited until at last he knew that she would never appear, that she was dead forever.

He flew. Free now at last from the claustrophobic tunnels of the City, he banked, rolled and dropped from the darkening sky, waiting for his own disappearance, hoping not to meet Ezzar now, moving toward the vale of light.

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	TWO STRANGE GREAT MOONS 1563 4D Grendel jolted himself from innerspace back to the understreet. The liftway doors hung, smashed open, on the shaft. The aliens, or whatever they were, hadn’t moved yet. He subvoked, Angie, what do you have? “They’re waiting for supplies to arrive. Probably blasting grenades or andro neuroactives. Maybe fuel-air fog.” So what are the choices? “Get out, fast, and give this place up to them. You could leave me here as a gift; I’m already primed, and I’ll blow them back up the shaft. Or else you can stay and get chopped up or fried.” I’m getting out. His leg shrieking pain at him, Grendel bellied his way backward to the doorway. The doors stood intact. A voice cut in. Ezzar. “Rennie, what’s happened?” She wanted to come to him; they argued as he watched the shaft. Angie said, her voice tense, “They’re moving down, and some are moving up. Hurry. I’m arming for self-destruct, right now.” He yelled at Ezzar, “Go! I’m right behind you! Don’t wait, just go!” He levered himself to a crouch, backing to the door, beamer ready. An object the size of his fist dropped out into the street; as it fell, Grendel fired. The space erupted in silent solar flame. He staggered back, slamming into the doors, blinded. The doors gave way and he fell back. Angie, what’s going on? Silence. A scuffling and clanking from outside the doors. The last shot must have been a pulser — no helms or auto weapons would work now. He got his feet under him again and reached rapidly along the passage until another steel door met his hands. His eyes stung, but now he could make out the faint impression of a handle against a dim light. The air blanketed him with heat. He didn’t hear Ezzar‘s voice. Good. Maybe at last she’s found some sense. Time to give them a farewell. Goodbye, Angie, finish arming. No answer now. He found his hand rifle in his carapiece. He counted the rounds. Two would be enough. When they come through, he’d blow Angie up in their faces. He took off his helm and pressed the manual-arming sequence in its rim. Grendel rolled the helm down the passage to the first door. The helm orientation was bad; his shots might deflect before they hit the freshly-converted explosives. The doors blew inward with a bang. Four beams pierced the passageway just as Grendel fired. Death: the flame of one beam took his belly and spine in its teeth and shook them gently, the way a puppy might shake a rag its first time. He watched the tracks his bullets had left, with satisfaction. Yes, just where he wanted them, all that really mattered. Everything was going just the way he wanted it now. Ellichik would be out of their hands forever. Now if only Ezzar had gotten away safe, that would give him the greatest gift. Innerspace: the thought snatched him up out of the passageway on the crest of a wave of heat, and he spread new wings many feet wide and soared into a dark green sky over vanishing red flame. That must be the explosion. Oh, Ezzar, don’t meet me here and pass on through, stay down in there and work at it, will you? Two vast moons crowded each other just above an unending range of peaks behind him. Searching, he flew over jagged, spired mountains until he found a lower, smooth peak with a narrow vale in its flank, cut so that the two strange great moons cast chalky light its full length. In the deep end of the vale stood a spark of light. There. He’d found the place. When Periliath had died in their tank so many years ago, he had found the vale and waited there for her, waited until at last he knew that she would never appear, that she was dead forever. He flew. Free now at last from the claustrophobic tunnels of the City, he banked, rolled and dropped from the darkening sky, waiting for his own disappearance, hoping not to meet Ezzar now, moving toward the vale of light.