Tzonov's finger came off the trigger and the gun's obscene chattering died away, leaving only its echoes and the moaning of wounded men. But from the shaft behind the shattered, smoking landing-stage came a clatter of booted feet. Time was running out for Tzonov, and he had a journey of his own to make.
He lifted the muzzle of his gun, fired a short burst into
the shaft, then fell into a crouch, spun on his heel and hosed lead at the main console. Hot white sparks flew from metal, and Tzonov used them to trace a path across the shattering instrument panels. He knew where to hit, and when he found his target was rewarded with a display of arcing blue electrical fire. Corroborating his accuracy, there came a squeal of straining metal and triple jets of steam blasted from the bases of the hydraulic rams. And the three massive sections of carbon steel eggshell began to crank shut.
Bullets fragmented into hot splashes of lead where they struck against the superstructure of the gantry close to the Russian's feet. Cursing, he turned and fired a long burst into the entry shaft, then raced for the narrowing glare of the Gate where two of the sections were slowly coming together. Desultory, sporadic fire followed him as he passed through the event horizon and seemed sucked into the unknown. But as the huge metal sections ground closer together and the light was reduced to three flickering arcs or fans, which were finally shut off, so the firing died away.
Then, apart from a feeble glimmer of white light from gaps in the shell where torn welding had fallen away, all was darkness. And as the rams shut down and hissed into quiescence, all was silence, too . .. except for the moans of the dying, and the unanswered, unanswerable queries of the recently dead .. .
Moments earlier:
Even within the Mobius Continuum, still Nathan could feel the disturbance of hot lead from Tzonov's weapon. Until he collapsed the door behind him. And then all he could feel was Ben Trask.
Na-Na-Nathan? Trask's query was a telepathic pant, a half-snatched breath, a prayer issued into the alien darkness. But in another moment it became a cry of panic: Nathaaaan!
The Necroscope went after him, grabbed him, said It's okay! Take it easy, Ben. I'm with you. And reaching out with his metaphysical mind: And David Chung is at the Radujevac Refuge. We can go there now.
Jesus! Trask gasped. Nathan, thank God you're there! I mean, I was wondering: 'What if Tzonov hits him?' I'm sorry, son, but it wasn't you I was thinking of. I was thinking of me, stuck in this place forever. I'd go crazy in an hour. No, Jess than that. I'd probably already be crazy!
Even as he 'spoke' they were in motion, as Nathan tracked his earring sigil to Romania. And in another moment (or in no time at all, whichever way one wishes to think of it) they were there. Nathan conjured a door and stepped through it, dragging a stumbling, staggering Trask after him.
The light was subdued; Nathan's eyes accepted it without blinking. David Chung stepped forward and helped support Trask, whose face was drawn.
Trouble?' Chung was at once solicitous. 'A bad trip?'
'You could say that,' said Nathan grimly.
He and Trask had emerged from the Mobius Continuum into a small square box of a room no more than three and a half metres across, with dim fluorescent lighting in the low ceiling and no outside windows or furniture. Just four white-painted walls and David Chung, and Nathan's golden Mobius loop earring. Seeing it in Chung's outstretched hand, Nathan took it back, slipped it into place in the lobe of his ear.