Lacking any other plan, Bott and Nubry moved in the direction of the voice, crawling over crumpled enforcers and under the traveling square of the Head Librarian, which zipped back and forth, dragging its unconscious rider. When Bott saw that the source of the voice was Wanure Smalen, wearing a transparent gas mask, he thumbed the ring of another type of grenade.
“You’ll need to go outside to reach the Deaccession Chamber in time,” the deputy librarian said. “The halls will be filled with our Collectors.”
Nubry rubbed her throat and glanced at Bott. “Why…should we…trust you?”
“Because I want something from you,” he replied, with a little bow. “I want to come along.”
Nubry took a step toward the older man. “You put my ship in the Deaccession Chamber.”
“Yes!” The deputy held up both hands and shook twelve long fingers at her. “But I set up the longest possible burning sequence, to give you time to get there if you could. Give hundred million books! I’ve never even SEEN a book. My father thought he saw one once, in the Head Librarian’s office.”
“Opio’s?” said Nubry.
“Her!” His lip curled. “She wouldn’t touch a book. She won’t even watch them burn. Please hurry; it won’t wait forever.”
“How do we….” Bott began.
“Ket’s try!” Nubry turned to him. “What could happen that would be worse than letting the books burn?”
Bott could think of several possibilities but followed the deputy and the captain of the Dragonshelf on the stairwell behind the door. His free hand went into his pocket for his cards. He pulled up the gold one.
“Ship?” he whispered.
“Are you STILL breathing?” demanded the Drover.
“Shut up. Come down within missile range and prepare to fire at the defenses if you see us leaving in a hurry.”
“You do have a knack for making friends. It must be your sweet smile.”
“Just do it.”
They came out onto the planet’s surface in the fog, which was breaking up under the impact of a wind that tossed loose strands of hair around Nubry’s ears. “Which way?” she called, sweeping these back.
Wanure pointed a thumb straight ahead. “If we cut through the ancient convention center, we can reach the exhaust vents, where we can drop down into the Chamber. If we reach your ship, the blast doors will be closed, so you’ll need to shoot them or ram through….”
“There they are!”
“Let’s go!” Wanure broke into a run toward a large roofless building. “Straight out the back!”
Rock fragments from the door sprayed them as the first gunshots landed. They plunged into cold shadow, surrounded by heaps of rotting debris. Running carefully so as not to get ahead of the man who knew where they were going, Bott kicked at one of these heaps to see if anything useful had survived. The rusting jewelry and broken measuring sticks did not strike him as especially profitable.
A grenade flew straight up from Bott’s right hand as he jumped at the sound. While he ducked the gunman’s shot, another grenade slipped from his left hand to wobble inert to the pursuer’s feet. The enforcer picked up the grenade, sneering, just in time for the first grenade to explode right in front of his face.
Bott put on a burst of speed toward the far end of the chamber. The near ed, rocking as the first explosion set off the other grenade, did not seem safe.
“Get ‘em with that every time when I’m sober,” he murmured. “And I….”
He stumbled, and snatched at a leather strap that had caught his ankle. Staring, he pulled this free of the pile of rubbish.
“A grenade satchel? Fully loaded?” He slung it over a shoulder. “On a library planet!”
“That’s a common stereotype,” said the deputy, holding open a door that dangled y one hinge. “People think librarians can’t handle weapons of destruction. That must have been a booth for a library security vendor.”
“I don’t like your security.” Nubry pointed at three waves of traveling squares approachin from the left. “Where do we go now?”
“There.” Wanure pointed out two metal squares with one hand, drawing a gun with the ther. “Take off the tops and you can slide down into the Chamber. When you get out, stop and collect me.” He held up his hands. “We all wear security bracelets that keep us from wandering into any trash eliminators or other dangerous areas.”
“Yeah?” Bott inquired, studying the man.
“I’d only get stuck halfway down the chute,” Wanure told him. The gun swung toward the sky. “I’ll try to discourage some of these folks while I wait.”
“I don’t….”
Nubry already had the lid free of one square opening. “You wait here,” she said. “You can get back to Dassie somehow if I don’t come out.” Before Bott could object, she dove into the darkness.
Scowling, Bott let a grenade fly up in the direction of the approaching traveling squares and ran to follow. He let the antique grenade satchel slip from his shoulder. He could already feel the het from the exhaust vent and there was no knowing what might set the vintage grenades off.
He chose to slide in feetfirst. A hand reached up to pull down his mask before the building heat melted it to his face. Landing in a brilliant haze of heat waves, he saw Nubry disappearing around the corner of his ship. He started to follow, but stopped, staring up into the golden eyes of an angry golden idol.
The heat generated by the statue allowed only one glance, but it was enough. Bott nodded. They used exactly this kind of incinerator to execute pirates on Sola Palag. The condemned were sealed into their ship which was positioned on a big gray slab like the one under the Dragnshelf. The heat was generated inside that massive head, and increased as the mouth opened. Eventually, the ship would be running in rivulets into grooves under the gray slab, sorted by atomic weight into reservoirs so it could be recycled. Anything remaining of non metal contents of the ship could be skimmed away later.
At the far end of the room were the locking mechanisms for the doors of the chamber. His lockpicks, absurdly cold for coming out of a rapidly heating pocket, were already in his hand. These doors would be specially reinforced against heat or explosion, and it would be far better for Nubry if those doors were open when she got there. The skin of a BBB-44 was very touchy when it came to heat.
A hum made him look back. He couldn’t tell if the Dragonshelf was moving, or if this was an illusion of the heat. He slid his lock picks away; he’d use the method his father had used to open the doors on Sola Palag. Pity to use his last two grenades. He should have accepted the Drover’s offer to make more, slave ship or no slave ship.
The mouth of the idol pulled wider. The Dragonshelf lifted a little from the slab. Sliding the pins from his grenades, Bott considered the lock. The grenades had to meet just at the sweet spot, not a finger to the left or below. And he had very little experience pitching grenades through waves of burning air.
“I can hit anything when I’m sober,” he reminded himself. “And I haven’t had a drink in….”
The Dragonshelf was definitely moving, and grenades wouldn’t wait. Time to move. He let the grenades fly and pushed off in the other direction. With any luck, Nubry had noticed he was here and left a ramp down.
The chamber shook. Bott found the main ramp and threw himself against a strut. A glove would have been useful right now, but he gritted his teeth and hung on.
The ship sped past a fallen door and up a steep incline into air that was shockingly cold. Bott slapped out some small fires in his vest and nearly fell loose when the ship executed a turn. A shot from the Dragonshelf’s underside scattered an approaching wedge of traveling squares.
“Just in time!” cried the deputy, who was carrying the abandoned grenade satchel. He flung this up on the ramp. Which was at his chin level, and grabbed the edge. Something rumbled above them; Wanure looked out and up.
“That must be your other ship, the….”
“No! Don’t!” Bott grabbed his wrists. “Don’t!”
He hauled the deputy onto the ramp, though the look of wonder on the man’s face told him it was too late. He had himself approached the Drover with blinkers, so he wouldn’t see too much of the most beautiful ship ever built.
The ramp rose slowly. Retreating into the ship, Bott checked the most likely places for a pulse. He had no idea where Wanure Smalen’s people kept their hearts. But he found nothing suggesting life.
A dull thud told him the Library Planet had broken out its heavy guns, and a second told him the Drover was replying in kind. The health of the deputy seemed suddenly less pressing.
“Where’s Wanure?” Nubry demanded, when Bott reached the cockpit.
Bott jerked a thumb toward the door. “Back at the door. Must be his security bracelets. Can you check on it? I don’t know your ship well enough.”
“Okay. Here.” Rising, she indicated her chair. “I’m staying out of range of their guns until we find a place they don’t have any. Shoot them if they need it.”
As soon as the door closed behind her, Bott lunged for the controls, sending the BBB-44into exit speed. This was no time to be cautious, not with the Rhododendron coming within reach. He had to dodge the shots from the ground and those answering from the Drover; when the sheriff’s ship added its fire, this would be incredibly complex. He thought of calling the Drover; the ship’s computers should be able to analyze the firing pattern and help navigate a way through it. But there wasn’t time for backchat from the computer.
In fact, he thought, as the Dragonshelf veered between blasts, this might be a good time to abandon the Drover completely. Having the biggest most beautiful ship ever built did add difficulty to concealment. The Dragonshelf might make him a better flagship.
The door to the cockpit opened. He glanced at the returning Nubry, whose eyes were all but invisible under her glare. Maybe not.
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