"I need a volunteer. Anyone ever shoot a nose cannon?"

Nahara or Rodriguez, maybe ... Not the Chippie, and absolutely not the Seeker.

Of course ... there was one guy who could probably operate it, no problem.

Delgato.

Ruth froze when the captain's voice came over the speakers.

Like the other passengers, she'd been furiously knocked back and forth as the SRV sped over the winding roads. She was exhausted, like the rest of the passengers who hadn't slept in ... how long?

And as shots flashed by the SRV, the heavy thump of the gun turret shook her bones.

And now this? Asking for a volunteer?

Or what-we get captured ... killed?

She undid her safety straps and stood up. Clinging to the seatbacks, she made her way slowly to the front of the cabin.

"You. Nahara. How about you?" she asked, looking at the World Council exec.

He regarded her for a moment and then lowered his gaze as though ashamed.

"I-I'm just an executive."

He turned away.

"And you?"

She focused on the doctor-Rodriguez.

He shook his head even before she asked her question.

A sound off to her right drew her attention.

She looked at him-Ivan Delgato, the scourge of the Star Road, if she could believe the media.

His eyes were wide; his expression, pained.

Then, though she thought it impossible, he managed to say a single word.

"... I..."

That was all.

A sound like he was being strangled. Which he was. From what Ruth knew about neuro-collars, it was a miracle he could speak at all.

She held her breath and leaned closer.

"Don't strain yourself," she whispered.

But Ivan's face was infused with blood, veins bulging in his neck and forehead as he struggled to say more.

"... Take ... this..."

A raw, ragged intake of breath.

"... off..."

Ruth looked around at the other passengers. Frantic.

No help there.

"Someone please. Help. This thing is strangling him!" she shouted to the others.

Then the exec, Nahara, shook his head again.

"None of my business," he finally said, softly. "And I'm not much of a fighter."

After a tense moment or two, Rodriguez stood up. Glaring at Nahara, he said, "Not much of a man, either. I'll do what I can."

With that, he walked up the few stairs to the cockpit door and rapped on it.

Within a second or two, the door opened, and he went inside.

Rodriguez's hands were sweating as he shut the cockpit door and stood there for a moment, staring in amazement at the complex array of navigation and communication screens, displays, and devices.

Where to begin?

"Okay, Doc, I doubt you've ever been inside a SRV cockpit or operated a pulse cannon before." Annie barely glanced up from her screens, her hands flying back and forth over the controls.

He shook his head.

"Have a seat. I'll talk you through it. When I have a-"

Without warning, she jerked the steering hard to the left, taking a narrower ramp.

"Sit down. Buckle up."

Rodriguez did as he was told and then watched, fighting back his fear as Annie steered the vehicle down a long, spiraling ramp. A feeling of vertigo swept through him. It looked like she was heading straight down toward the raging ocean.

Is she trying to get us all killed?

On one of the screens, Jordan-the gunner-was sitting in the aft turret, calmly swinging his cannon around and shooting. His face was expressionless.

The speeders chasing behind them were fast, and they easily dodged back and forth to avoid shots.

The shots that did hit exploded on the speeders' shields with bright flashes of orange plasma. Enough hits, and even the toughest shields would fail.

"The gun's control is there ... on your left. Grip the handles, aim, and-shit!"

Another wrenching turn almost threw Rodriguez out of his seat.

"Aim and fire," Annie finished. "The trigger's the red button on the left handle. Above your thumb."

Without even thinking to take careful aim, Rodriguez pressed the trigger.

A streak of light shot from the forward cannon and hit the road about forty meters in front of them. Huge chunks of road compound exploded into dust.

An instant later, the SRV shuddered when it ran over the smoking crater his shot had made in the road.

"Easy there, cowboy," Annie said. "I said aim first."

Biting his lower lip, Rodriguez nodded.

Annie's expression was fixed, staring straight ahead as she piloted the twists and turns of the spiraling road. This particular loop led down and then straight up again. But here was their chance.

A last mad dash to the portal.

"Make sure you get someone in your sights before you pull the damn trigger."

Technically, press, not pull, Rodriguez thought, but he wasn't about to argue the point right now.

Rodriguez licked his lips and stared, amazed at the savage fury-and frightening beauty-of the ocean below them. Towering gray waves washed up and over the ramps and crashed in huge sprays against the pylons.

But this was no time to appreciate the view.

Up ahead, a one-man speeder suddenly appeared.

Moving so fast.

Rodriguez swung the gun up until the automatic targeting system blinked green. Then he fired ...

And missed.

His shot went wide and tore through one of the pylon's support struts. Sparks exploded and flared as twisted hunks of molten metal and alloy exploded into the air. The gaping hole had to be at least four meters across.

"This thing's got punch."

The oncoming speeder was weaving from side to side, avoiding the fire and heading straight at them.

Rodriguez was sure they were going to collide head on.

But Annie darted onto another ramp, leaving that speeder behind until its pilot could turn around and get back into the chase.

"Take your time ... this isn't rocket-or any other kind of science," Annie said in a quiet voice that almost made him believe he could do this. "It's just aim and shoot."

Almost.

Because then, his only thought was: If it's left up to me, we're all dead meat.

Jordan exhaled, frustrated.

The SRV zigged and zagged so much he still couldn't get off many clear shots, and the speeders were onto his tactics now and kept their noses darting left and right as much as possible.

Steady there, Annie, he thought. Just for a bit.

He couldn't see the troop ship through the turret, but his scanner indicated its approximate location.

What he saw made him smile.

"Annie, you've got him out of position," he said into the commlink.

"Say again?" Annie's voice crackled in his headset.

"We're between him and the portal. Check your readings. Jesus! Our shields aren't holding up."

"Not deionizing can't be helping," Annie said sharply.

Had to be slowing the SRV down.

"Can't do a damn thing about it now," Jordan replied.

A pause. Nothing. Then: "We're just going to have to make a run for it."

"That'd be my move."

On the scanner screen, Jordan watched as several dots moved in from three directions to cut them off, trying to drive them away from the portal.

He had no delusions about their odds.

Annie was a good pilot ... a great pilot, but she couldn't do the impossible. These Runners were tenacious, dogged; they must really want whatever-or whoever-was onboard.

"Hey, Jordan. I'm gonna need you up front to clear the way if things get hot," Annie said over the commlink. "Going to have to forget the speeders. I think their captain knows what I'm gonna try."

"Be right there," Jordan said, already undoing his safety straps.

Within seconds, he was moving briskly up the aisle toward the cockpit.

But at the front of the cabin, the Chippie grabbed at him.

"Want to chip up for me?" she asked, her eyes bright with excitement.