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  It looked as if the driver was pushing it to its limits. A cloud of dust trailed behind the vehicle as it traced the cliff edge flashing its lights.

  Someone in the truck launched a flare. Its blinding red light hit my eyes forcing me to lower the glasses.

  "Are they here to get us?" Grunt leaned against the board.

  A large wave hit the raft. The captain sprung back. Wong who straddled the float raised his paddle and nearly fell into the water. I grabbed his elbow and pulled him down.

  "Keep your heads down," I told everyone. "Lean against the board."

  I stumbled to the middle of the raft, knelt and, grabbing at Wladas, lifted the glasses again.

  The truck braked and the people started jumping out. I counted four. Two more got out of the cab.

  "What are they doing?" Grunt yelled above the wind.

  A bolt of lightning flashed over the Fang, zigzagging across the sky. The clap of thunder crushed in our ears. The approaching storm showered us with a mixture of rain and brine.

  I waited for the next wave to pass and raised the glasses.

  The men had by then put up a tripod in front of their truck. It looked like a stand for a heavy machine gun.

  Grunt reached for the glasses. "Lemme have a look."

  "Don't move," I said trying not to lose the truck. It wasn't easy in the rain and the swell. The lenses misted over.

  "What are they doing?" Georgie shouted.

  They'd already mounted a thick tube on the tripod. A non-recoil?

  I handed the glasses to Wong and reached for the gun to assemble it. The bolt didn't want to go into the breech; the belt feed pin wouldn't go into its locator. I grazed my fingers on some lugs inside the breech frame but finally managed to drive the bolt back into its carriage. It clicked along the runners locking into place. Next: the spring, the stock, the ammo belt...

  "Step aside!" I laid the gun onto the float.

  The barrel went up and down as the raft jerked. No way I could take aim, especially considering the distance.

  "Give me the fucking glasses!" Grunt yelled.

  The Chinese turned to me. I nodded. The captain grabbed the glasses from him and stumbled, face down, onto the float.

  "Oh fuck!" Grunt's voice reached me between the claps of thunder. "Dropped 'em!"

  He slapped the float with both hands.

  "I've dropped the fucking glasses!"

  It was getting dark as we spoke. Squinting, I wiped the brine from my face. The men on the shore raised the barrel higher as they aimed. Another flare lit up in the hands of a man who reached out to place it on top of the barrel.

  "What are they doing?" the captain shouted in my ear.

  "Trying to set off some fireworks!" I said as I tried to train the sights of my gun on the tripod and the people next to it.

  "It's a rescue rope!" Georgie yelled. "Don't shoot, you clone's ass! They're not trying to kill us!"

  I turned to him.

  "They're loading a harpoon," Georgie went on. "They've attached a flare to it so that we can see it!"

  Their gun went off spewing the light high into the sky. It seemed as if it would get lost in the dark clouds, but the next moment, the bright dot reappeared and started to descend. The illuminated harpoon fell a couple dozen feet away from the raft.

  "Shortfall!" Georgie groaned.

  "All they're going to do is make a hole in the raft!" Wladas said. "What's in it for us, anyway?"

  The crane operator turned to him,

  "The harpoon has a container attached to it, a cylinder with harnesses for all of us. That's how raiders rescue prospectors from the quick sands."

  The men on the shore didn't bother to retrieve the harpoon but cut it and loaded their gun with a new one. It took them some time to start a new flare - apparently, their observer was making a windage adjustment. The growing twilight had all but swallowed the shore when a splash of light pierced the blanketing rain illuminating the tripod on the cliff, the men and their truck nearby.

  Another shot. We looked up. This time the harpoon didn't disappear into the clouds but followed a low trajectory and hit the waves just to the right of the raft.

  "Come on, Jim!" I handed my gun to the Chinese and jumped overboard.

  We had to find the harpoon while the flare was still burning. The waves carried me off but Jim, born by the sea, proved to be an excellent swimmer. He grabbed my hand and chopped the air pointing where to go. Holding onto each other, we swam toward the blurred spot of light.

  I dreaded it would go out before we reached it, but that didn't happen. Jim grabbed the container and turned on his back, clutching it to his chest. I caught hold of the collar of his vest and pulled him along.

  The raft rode high on a tall wave. Wong and Georgie worked their paddles trying to bring it as close to us as possible. The flare went out while the raft dived deep into an eddy. I struck out with my legs steering with my free arm.

  "Mark, Oakum! You there?" Grunt's voice came from my right.

  "Over here!" I yelled and got a mouthful of water.

  Another wave rolled onto us. A paddle hit my shoulder. I stuck out my arm, but my fingers grabbed at nothing and we were dragged under the raft. I prayed the kid didn't let go of the container. For a moment, all sounds disappeared - no ocean, no waves and no thunder. Then the top of my head scraped the bottom of the raft, again and again. Once we resurfaced, I grabbed at the rope strung along the floats and yelled,

  "Get us out!"

  Strong hands grasped my shoulders and dragged me out of the water. I didn't let go of the collar of Jim's vest. In a few seconds, we flipped over the float and collapsed on the bottom of the raft.

  Georgie took the container from Jim: a smooth thick cylinder welded to a long chrome harpoon with three locking rings and a winch rope fed through one of them. The crane operator unscrewed the cylinder top and produced rolled-up harnesses fitted with spring hooks. He tore off the strings and unfolded the slings like paper streamers. Then he looked up.

  "What now?" I said when I saw the expression on his face.

  "Only three!"

  I snatched the container from the crane operator and gave it a shake. A signal cartridge rolled out.

  "Have you used a harness before? Cut the rope off the floats and tie it together to make another harness. Jim - help him!"

  I pulled out the machete, handed it to Georgie and started checking the package. When I undid one of the hooks and lay the straps out in front of me, they formed a primitive harness. Easier than a parachute. I pushed the container toward Wong,

  "D'you know how to put it on?"

  The raft lurched. Georgie screamed as his head plunged underwater. Jim grabbed his legs and pulled him back on board.

  "Move it," I ordered.

  The crane operator pitched Jim a length of rope and leaned overboard to cut some more. The Chinese picked up a strap, threw it across his back and clipped the hooks close.

  "Wladas," I turned to him, "spread your arms wide."

  The neurotech was pale, his lips shaking, panic in his eyes. I forced his elbows higher and threw the harness over his shoulders. The straps lashed across his shoulder blades. I fastened the hooks on his chest and pressed him to the float. "Stay put!"

  He nodded looking past me at the waves. I grabbed the third strap and turned to Grunt, "Raise your hands!"

  When he locked his fingers on his head, I fed the straps under his arms and clipped the hooks. I straightened a twisted shoulder strap, reached for the harpoon and attached Grunt to one of the three lock rings.

  "Got the straps?" I turned to Jim.

  "Here," he spread out two lengths of rope tied together to form a makeshift harness. Another one was already fitted across his chest. Next to him sat Georgie, the machete on his lap, finishing yet another harness.

  "Hook me up," I leaned toward Jim and spread my arms wide. He did it in seconds and pulled at the knot testing it.

  "All done!"

  I took the mac
hete and the signal cartridge and checked the others. Wong, Grunt and Wladas sat still, already hooked up to the chrome harpoon. The Chinese straightened the rescue rope that hung overboard.

  "Georgie, hook yourself up to the captain. I'm with Wladas, Jim with-"

  Wong grabbed the youngster's shoulders, pulled himself close and clasped the boy's chest knot with his own hook. I did the same with Wladas. Georgie and the captain took quite a while.

  When they were finished, I raised my hand with the signal cartridge and unscrewed the base. The lanyard dropped into my hand. I pulled it.

  A snap. Hissing, a splash of white light headed for the low clouds.

  "Hold on!" I managed. The rescue rope jerked out of the water, drew tight and pulled the raft toward the shore.

  The waves foamed, the thunderstorm raged overhead, bolts of lightning ripping through the dark. One or two hit the ocean piercing the water far from the raft which bobbed about on the waves. Every now and then its bottom slammed the water with a heart-stopping jolt before jumping up in the air again.

  We approached the rocky shore at neck-breaking speed. As the raft jumped again, a bolt of lightning illuminated the reversing truck by the cliff and the men inside. The tripod was nowhere to be seen, and the rescue rope disappeared inside the truck.

  The raft dived and Wladas screamed in my ear. For a moment, we soared over the waves - but already without our little vessel. I tried to draw my knees up to my chest. Too late. We hit the surface, jumped out and smashed back down again, drawn deep under water.

  We could unhook ourselves at any moment. No need to panic. The steel rescue rope wouldn't have broken just like that. More likely, the truck driver had slowed down to make sure that the frantic jolting didn't break every bone in our bodies.

  Gradually, we were forced out of the water and dragged along the slowly arching shore. The sound of the truck engine broke through the battering surf. The truck drove along the shore westward where the setting sun pierced through the thunderclouds painting the sea orange.

  My muscles cramped with exertion. My body had turned into one smarting bruise. When I decided that the driver had apparently taken us on a scenic route around the Continent, the vehicle stopped. Here the shore was as steep as ever, but a strip of sandy ridge showed in the water between two cliffs.

  Our rescuers were shouting something, but I couldn't understand a word. Another flare descended and hit the sand illuminating the ridge's outline with a panoply of sparks.

  "Get out!" Georgie yelled, spitting out brine. "That way!"

  He slapped the water pointing at the shore. The rescue rope drew tight but not as tight as before. I looked up. Three men by the cliff edge were heaving the rope in, pulling us closer to the shore where the surf was weaker.

  We dangled on the rope like dead fish unable to wriggle off their hooks. If we didn't get up and walk, the surf would smash us against the cliffs, too close to each other for comfort.

  "Hold-" I choked on a mouthful of brine, coughed and croaked, "Hold hands!"

  The men on the cliff pulled the rope harder.

  "We're coming out!"

  They pulled the rescue rope hard, dragging us out of the water. Then the line slackened. The shore loomed close as they let go of the rope and we all collapsed on the sand.

  My hands refused to move as I unclasped myself from Wladas. I turned over onto my back and stared into the dark sky.

  "Hey!" I heard from above. "Hello?"

  Georgie swore and explained,

  "These are McLean's men, may clones screw their asses."

  "Which means?" I scrambled to my knees.

  Wong sat cross-legged next to a squatting Jim. A bit further, the captain rubbed his eyes spitting out wet sand.

  Wladas lay face down. I reached to check on him when he stirred and turned onto all fours, shaking his head.

  "What was that about McLean's men?" I asked Georgie.

  "They'll present us with a bill now," he answered enigmatically and forced himself onto his feet looking up. "That's why they dragged us out."

  I rose, too. "Tell me. But be quick."

  "Nothing to tell, really. This clone's ass McLean chartered us to take a seaweed shipment to the fort. Not for the record, you understand. That we did, but we also took a return shipment."

  "Also for McLean?"

  "Worse. It was for the riggers. And they'd already paid for the delivery. In gold. Now the ferry has sunk and all their equipment with it."

  "In gold?" I stared at Georgie, not quite believing it. "I thought Pangea had no mineral resources of its own?"

  "It hasn't," the captain spoke without taking his eyes off the cliffs. "The gold was jumped from the Earth. Remember the Arctic goldmines transport caught in the jump? Well, surprise surprise, it ended up here. Pointless trying to retrieve the gold as it would cost more to jump it back. So the locals use it to mint our money."

  Grunt waved at where the Continent lay to the north. "It's a long irrelevant story," he glanced at Georgie. "But to cut it short, McLean is not in a good mood. He's the one responsible for the delivery of the shipment to the riggers. Our cargo has gone down and we haven't. So he must have sent those there raiders."

  "Some of the fishermen must have seen the ferry sink," the crane operator added. "He had plenty of time to get back to New Pang and tell McLean the story."

  From the cliffs above, someone shouted in English ordering us to hook up to the rope two at a time.

  "Yeah, I got the idea," I watched Wong attach Wladas to the rope. "You've got a lot of answers to find, first to McLean and then to the riggers. Grunt, you go with Wladas. Wong and Jim, second. We..." I glanced at the crane operator staring at the cliffs and the armed men overseeing our ascent, "Georgie and I will go last."

  The Chinese motioned to Grunt who struggled onto his feet. Wong attached his hook to a lock ring and waved to the goons overhead.

  "Heave up!" I shouted back and added in a low voice,

  "Do they understand Russian?"

  "Everybody does," Georgie grumbled. "Even in New Pang they speak it better than we do, and New Pang is McLean's stomping ground."

  The rain stopped abruptly. Just a moment ago, billions of raindrops had been hitting the earth around us, and now they were all gone, their pattering subsiding, the roar of the surf behind growing closer and louder.

  I raised my head to look back at the ocean. The storm clouds dispersed and melted as I watched. I could already make out the outline of the jumpgate base, its wall bristling with square radio telescope dishes. I had a sick feeling I'd seen it all before from this particular angle, as if watching my own life from the sidelines.

  "New Pang is the city on the west coast, right?" I asked.

  "It is," Georgie spat onto the sand watching Grunt and Wladas being hoisted up the cliff slope.

  "How about an Old Pang? Logically, there should be-"

  "No such thing. Not much worth mentioning, rather. Just some ruins."

  Georgie squatted, stuck a finger into the sand and drew the Continent's outline and a double-ended arrow pointing north and south. He looked up at me.

  "Where are we now?" I squatted next to him.

  Georgie drew a horizontal line across the picture. "Equator," he explained and pointed at the south west corner. "We're here."

  Something snapped in my head again, and the map of Continent Anomalous lit up before my eyes overlapping the crane operator's clumsy drawing. His finger moved north east.

  "Nothing but mountains further up," he said. "This is swamp," he drew an ellipse, made a hole in the sand next to it and said, "And this is the City of Forecomers."

  "What city?"

  "No one really knows," we rose and he started shaking the sand off his hands. "Just a name for some poor devils that used to inhabit Pangea before us ages ago. So they built those structures to live in. We've tried to settle there... didn't work."

  "What, nobody there at all now?"

  "Only some farmers but they're muc
h further south, closer to the river. They wouldn't go near the ruins."

  "Because of the swamps," I suggested comparing Information's facts. But he didn't hear me, glancing upward and shifting his feet.

  "What can we do about McLean's men?" I asked as Jim and Wong hooked themselves up and started ascending. "What weaponry might they have?"

  "Shotguns and handguns, that's for sure," Georgie grumbled. "Let me think... Sometimes they carry heavy carbines and machine guns but that's normally when they go to the plains. Good for fighting off tigers."

  "Come on, then," I drew the machete and walked toward the foot of the cliff foot where the rope dangled.

  "You surely don't mean you're gonna fight them?"

  "I might," I caught the end of the rope, "unless you have any other suggestions."

  Georgie approached and clipped his hook to the rope without saying a word.

  "They wouldn't start with strangers, right?" I said. "They can tell by our clothes we're new so they'll leave us till last."

  He nodded.

  "As for you," I hooked myself up to the rope hearing some heavy-duty bumping and swearing overhead, "they'll probably deal with you first before taking you to McLean."

  "Deal with us! Beat us to pulp, more like. They've already started, can't you hear? So what do you suggest?"

  "Haul us up!" I shouted and added in a low voice. "Don't do anything without my signal."

  When we were about ten feet away from the surface, I heard a female voice overhead. Georgie swore under his breath.

  "Who is it?" I whispered.

  "Kathy. She's French," he stared at the three human shapes looming on the cliff edge. "She's a real bitch from hell, this one. Killed three clones with her bare hands once."

  The raiders grabbed our shoulders, jerked us close to the edge and dragged us up. The men took my machete and shoved me toward Wladas and the Chinese who stood aside. Then they knocked Georgie in the teeth sending him flying to the ground to join Jim and the captain. A burly African stooped over Grunt spitting curses in his smashed-up face, his bloodshot eyes glistening, his long strong fingers squeezing the captain's chin. He had to be the squad's leader.

  Three other raiders surrounded the ferry crew watching their chief. One swarthy with a scar across his cheek and angry vivid eyes. The second one stood sideways from me offering a glimpse of his straight nose and oily hair done up in a ponytail that is so handy to grab at in a fight. Opposite them stood the squat Kathy, her hair cropped close.