tz.cobra strike-第48部分

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el　him　neatly　onto　the　tower　roof。
　And　right　into　the　middle　of　a　small　crowd　who'd　apparently　rushed　over　to　investigate　the　motion　below。
　Winward　didn't　bother　with　lasers　or　sonics　for　this　group；　and　they　still　didn't　have　a　chance。　Swinging　his　arms　like　a　servo…powered　threshing　machine；　he　hurled　them　in　all　directions；　bleeding　or　stunned。　The　mojos　were　a　different　story；　but　he　was　getting　used　to　their　arch…winged　attack；　and　took　a　perverse　pleasure　in　burning　them　out　of　the　air。　。　And　that　flicker　of　overconfidence　nearly　killed　him　。。。　because　four　of　the　Qasaman　contingent　had　stayed　by　their　weapons　across　the　roof；　and　as　Winward　looked　up　from　his　latest　carnage；　he　found　their　four　mojos　arrowing　in　bare　meters　away。
　His　puterized　reflexes　saved　him　in　that　first　instant；　recognizing　the　projectile　threat　and　hurling　him　down　and　to　the　side　in　a　flat　dive　and　roll。　It　was　a　maneuver　he'd　experienced　innumerable　times　while　fighting　spine　leopards　。。。　but　neither　spine　leopards　nor　the　antipersonnel　missiles　the　system　had　been　designed　for　had　the　mojos〃　hairpin　maneuverability。　Winward　had　barely　rolled　back　to　his　feet　when　the　first　two　birds　reached　him　。。。　and　this　time　they　got　through　his　defenses。
　He　gasped　with　shock　and　pain　as　talons　dug　deep　into　his　left　forearm；　a　beak　shredding　at　the　makeshift　bandage　he'd　wrapped　around　the　gash　there。　He　twisted　his　head　aside　barely　in　time　to　avoid　the　second　mojo's　slashing　attack　at　his　face；　but　even　so　its　wing　caught　him　full　across　the　eyes；　smashing　the　tip　of　his　nose　with　stunning　force。　The　last　two　mojos　reached　him　then；　one　swooping　down　to　a　grip　on　his　right　forearm；　the　other　landing　on　his　right　shoulder　and　digging　its　beak　into　his　cheek。
　And　Winward　went　berserk。
　He　dropped　onto　his　back　and　slammed　both　forearms　hard　onto　the　rooftop；　feeling　mojo　bones　crack　under　the　crushing　impact。　He　smashed　them　down　again　and　again　until　the　bloodied　pulps　loosened　their　grips　and　fell　off。　Reaching　up　with　his　right　hand；　he　grabbed　another　mojo　by　the　neck　and　twisted　hard。　He　heard　it　snap；　and　then　the　last　bird　was　back；　diving　toward　his　face。　He　grabbed　for　its　feet；　missed；　caught　the　wings　instead；　and　pulled　sideways。　One　wing　tore　off；　and　Winward　hurled　both　pieces　from　him。　Across　the　roof　there　was　the　flash…boom　of　a　gunshot　and　a　bullet　whistled　past　him。　Winward　swept　his　antiarmor　laser　across　the　crouching　gunmen；　then　leaped　to　his　feet　and　ran　to　them。
　All　four　were　dead。　Winward　glared　down　at　them；　gasping　for　air　。。。　and　as　his　rage　subsided　into　the　rivers　of　new　pain　ing　from　arms；　cheek；　and　shoulder；　his　brain　began　to　function　again　and　his　eyes　searched　out　the　weapons　his　enemies　had　been　manning。
　Mortars；　or　something　very　much　like　them。　Simple　tubes　with　a　firing　mechanism　at　the　bottom；　the　shells　stacked　nearby。　By　inference；　they　were　designed　with　an　equally　simple　impact　detonator。　Scooping　up　an　armful；　he　trotted　back　to　the　rear　of　the　roof。
　A　couple　of　faces　were　peering　upwards　from　the　window　he'd　smashed；　and　his　first　shell　therefore　went　in　there。　The　explosion　blew　out　a　couple　more　windows；　and　Winward　followed　it　with　one　aimed　more　toward　the　monitor　room's　center。　Then　he　turned　his　attention　to　the　guns　and　ground　crews　shooting　uselessly　at　him　from　below。　By　the　time　his　arms　were　empty　it　was　abundantly　clear　that　those　cannons　wouldn't　be　firing　again　for　a　long　time。
　Behind　him；　the　roof　stairway　door　slammed　open。　Winward　didn't　even　bother　to　look；　but　grabbed　the　parapet　edge　and　swung　down　into　the　room　below。　His　nanoputer　pensated　for　a　slight　overbalance；　and　he　landed　among　the　glass　shards　on　his　feet。
　The　place　was　a　mess。　Where　the　two　mortar　shells　had　hit；　floor　and　ceiling　were　torn　and　blackened。　Dozens　of　the　monitor　screens　had　been　smashed　by　flying　debris；　the　rest　were　blank。　At　least　six　bodies　were　visible。
　/　did　all　this。　The　thought　hit　him　with　unexpected　force；　sending　a　queasy　shiver　through　his　body。　For　the　first　time　in　his　life；　he　truly　understood　why　the　Dominion　of　Man　had　won　its　war　against　the　Trofts　。　。　。　and　why　its　citizens　had　rejected　their　returning　protectors。
　Gingerly；　he　picked　his　way　through　the　rubble　to　the　elevator　and　pushed　the　call　button。　Risky；　perhaps；　if　the　Qasamans　hadn't　learned　yet　not　to　send　piles　of　people　against　him。　But　the　emotional　reaction　bined　with　loss　of　blood　was　making　him　feel　light…headed；　and　for　the　moment　the　elevator　seemed　safer　than　trying　to　handle　stairs。
　An　instant　later　a　flash　of　light　from　the　side　caught　his　eye；　and　he　turned　to　find　the　woods　beyond　the　Dewdrop　on　fire。　Involuntarily；　he　hissed　with　the　fear　that　he'd　been　too　late；　that　the　ship　was　being　attacked。　But　on　the　heels　of　that　came　the　memory　of　his　instructions　to　Telek　before　he　left。　F'ahl　had　heard　the　explosions　and　obediently　swept　the　forest　with　laser　fire。　What　it　had　done　to　the　soldiers　waiting　there　was　uncertain；　but　it　had　sure　as　hell　not　done　much　for　the　foliage；　and　if　any　surviving　Qasamans　were　still　at　their　posts　they　were　probably　thinking　more　of　escape　than　attack。
　Speaking　of　which。。。。
　The　elevator　car　arrived…empty…and　he　punched　the　second　button　from　the　top。　For　a　wonder；　the　elevator　performed　as　directed…perhaps　the　override　controls　had　been　on　the　top　floor？…and　he　bounded　out　into　a　small；　deserted　room。
　Deserted；　but　not　quiet。　Like　the　floor　above；　this　one　was　Filled　with　electronic　gear；　and　from　a　panel　near　the　middle　two　voices　were　speaking。
　Propping　open　the　elevator　doors；　Winward　stepped　over　to　the　talkative　board。　munications；　probably；　left　running　when　the　people　on　duty　heard　the　ruckus　overhead　and　wisely　cut　out。　He　wondered　whether　the　mike　at　this　end　was　still　open；　decided　there　was　a　simple　way　to　find　out。　〃Can　you　hear　me？〃　he　called。
　The　voices　stopped　abruptly。　〃Who　are　you？〃　one　of　them　asked　a　moment　later　in　passable　Anglic。
　〃Michael　Winward；　currently　in　charge　of　this　tower；〃　he　said。　If　he　was　lucky；　they'd　tell　him　why　he　wasn't　really　in　control　yet；　and　he'd　know　where　he　needed　to　attack　next。　Link　should　already　be　on　his　way　over　from　the　Dewdrop；　together　the　two　of　them　should　be　able　to　make　a　respectable　showing…
　〃Michael；　this　is　Almo；〃　Pyre's　voice　cut　unexpectedly　into　the　line。　〃What's　your　situation？〃
　Winward　had　to　try　twice　to　get　any　words　out。　〃Almo！　Where　are　you？〃
　〃In　the　mayor's　underground　mand　center；〃　Pyre　replied。　〃Your　return　from　the　dead　seems　to　have　rattled　him　somewhat。〃
　Despite　his　pain　and　weakness；　Winward　felt　a　grim　smile　spread　across　his　face。　Rattled；　indeed。　Out…and…out　terrified；　if　the　man　had　any　sense　at　all。
　Pyre　was　speaking　again。　〃Now；　Mr。　Mayor；　the　situation　seems　to　have　changed。　I　have　you；　Winward　has　the　tower…〃
　〃He　does　not　control　the　tower；〃　Kimmeron　put　in。　〃I　have　been　speaking　to　the　tower　mander…〃
　〃I　can　take　control　whenever　I　wish；〃　Winward　interrupted　harshly。　Pyre　was　clearly　attempting　to　negotiate　with　the　Qasamans；　the　stronger　the　hand　Winward　could　give　him；　the　better　the　chances　he　could　get　back　to　the　ship　before　he　passed　out　from　loss　of　blood。　〃And　the　weapons　trained　on　the　Dewdrop　have　been　neutralized。　F'ahl　can　lift　any　time　he　wants　to。〃
　Kimmeron's　voice　was　low；　but　his　words　were　precise。　〃You　seek　to　trade　your　lives　for　more　of　ours。　I　have　said　that　that　is　an　unacceptable　bargain。　You　know　too　much　about　us；　at　whatever　additional　cost；　you　must　not　be　allowed　to　leave。〃
　Winward　didn't　wait　for　Pyre's　reply；　but　stepped　quickly　back　into　the　elevator。　In　Kimmeron's　place　he　would　probably　have　made　the　same　decision；　and　before　Pyre's　negotiations　officially　broke　down　he　wanted　to　be　on　his　way　back　to　the　Dewdrop。　The　long　floor…selection　panel　gleamed　at　him　as　he　reached　toward　it…
　And　paused。
　All　those　those　buttons　。。。　far　more　than　a　building　this　size　needed。　。　。。
　Blocking　the　doors　open　again；　he　stepped　back　into　the　munications　room。　Pyre　was　saying　some…；？　thing　about　mass　destruction；　Winward　didn't　bother　〃　to　let　him　finish。　〃Almo？〃　he　called。　〃Listen…remember　the　idea　some