Future Indefinite (The Great Game Book 3) by Duncan Dave

Author:Duncan, Dave [Duncan, Dave]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Open Road Media Sci-Fi & Fantasy
Published: 2014-04-01T04:00:00+00:00

32

Back in 1916, on leave in London, Julian had visited a moving-pictures theater. This was just like that. There the screen had been canvas, here it was a glare of sunlit sand, but he saw the same black-and-white images—jerky, silent, and hard to make out, varnished in the same unreality. Only the thundering pipe organ was missing.

Moas stood ten or twelve feet high. They were bigger than ostriches and even faster, which meant they made a terrestrial horse seem like an arthritic Shetland pony. A man on a moa’s back was out of reach of a foot soldier and his fifteen-foot lance was tipped with a triangular blade of razor-sharp steel. In full charge, he moved at around fifty miles an hour, a bloody near impossible target for bow or javelin.

This was a charge. Riding three abreast with pennants waving, the column swept across the riverbed like an express train, undulating over the low dunes and ridges. A cloud of dust from the hooves floated away in the wind, adding to the train illusion. The three files began to spread out, opening like talons, bearing death to all in their path.

Julian stood rooted. The Warband was sprinting to the temple—a man with solid rock at his back would be a harder target, although he would have little room to handle his own weapon. Within the ruins, the lancers would lose their advantage of speed, but not that of height, and moas were as nimble as men at dodging and cornering. The odds were five or six to one anyway. Two files were moving to encircle the temple. The third was heading for the long rope of pilgrims, which began to disintegrate as the prudent took to their heels, fleeing back toward Shuujooby. The procession became a rout.

“This should be an interesting test of Mr. Exeter’s abilities,” Ursula remarked acidly.

That broke the spell. Julian almost screamed as he realized their peril. He and Ursula were just standing there, two isolated onlookers in the middle of the empty field of sand. They could never be mistaken for ragged Shuujoobian peasants, so they would be assumed to be Liberator supporters. They were sitting ducks. He dropped Ursula’s shoes, grabbed her wrist, and began to run. She must have come to the same conclusion at the same instant, for she did not resist.

Running in the hot, soft sand was pure nightmare. The hamlet seemed a million miles away, and it would provide no real cover anyway. The moas would move on the grass as easily as on the riverbed. Julian could not recall how far beyond Shuujooby the edge of the swamp was—he just knew that it was too far, so running was useless. No matter, they had no alternative. The shell burst of pilgrims was throwing fragments in their direction, a few agile youngsters overtaking them. So now they were within the fleeing mob itself, part of a designated target.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a long shadow hurtle over the sand.

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