“It’s slowing,” said Reinhardt.
Mazer turned back to the lander. It was true. The spinning was decelerating. The slung detritus wasn’t getting as much altitude. It dropped even lower as the spinning continued to slow. Then, like a top in its final rotations, the lander went around once, twice, then stopped, settling firmly into the earth as the noise died away.
In an instant Mazer realized what the lander was doing. “It’s a fortress,” he said. “They were digging in. Literally. Anchoring their position. Getting ready.”
“For what?” said Reinhardt.
“For whatever is inside that thing,” said Mazer.
They hovered there a moment, waiting, watching.
Nothing happened.
A tree near the lander caught Mazer’s attention, and the site of it sprung a memory in his mind. The legs. “Reinhardt,” he said. “Swing us west again. Pull up those coordinates of the first survivor we saw.”
The HERC turned to the west. Mazer leaned out, searching, suddenly afraid that he had been too late. Then he saw it. There, in the same place, was the tree. Only now the legs weren’t sticking out. A man was standing beside the wall of mud, leaning on the exposed trunk of the tree, injured or exhausted or both.
“There!” Mazer said, pointing.
“I see him,” said Reinhardt. He brought the HERC down quickly. There wasn’t any level ground to land on among the paddies, so he stopped the HERC just above the paddy nearest the old man, hovering there, holding his position. Mazer took off his helmet and hopped out, sinking to his knees in the water and muck of the rice paddy.
The old man was short and bald and covered in mud, his eyes wide, his cheeks streaked with tears. He looked to be in his seventies or eighties. How he had survived, Mazer could only guess.
“My grandson,” said the old man, gesturing at the tree. “He’s stuck. I can reach his hand, but I can’t pull him out. Please. Hurry.”
“Where?” said Mazer.
The old man crouched down and pointed into a hollow impression in the mud beneath the felled tree. Mazer got down on all fours in the water to get a closer look. The hole was small, not even big enough for him to squeeze his shoulders in. He couldn’t see anything in the darkness. He unclipped the small light from his hip and shined it inside. There was the boy, maybe two meters in, pinned down.
Mazer turned to the old man. “What’s the boy’s name?”
“Bingwen. But hurry. He’s in pain. His arm is broken.”
Mazer stuck his head in the hole and shined the light on his own face so the boy could see him. “Bingwen. My name is Mazer Rackham. We’re going to get you out.”
The boy turned his head to him. He looked weak.
Mazer turned back to the HERC. “Patu, throw me the shovel.”
Patu unhooked a collapsible shovel from the back wall and brought it out, sinking in the muck of the paddy beside him. Mazer took it. “Bring me an oxygen mask and the winch cable, too.” He clicked on the radio on his collar. “Reinhardt, get the talons ready. We’re going to have to gently pull this tree away.”
Mazer gripped the shovel and worked quickly, digging around the hole to make it wider without unsettling the mud above the tree. The boy inside was in a little bubble of protection thanks to the thick branches above him, and Mazer had to be careful not to cause an avalanche and bury him alive.
Patu returned with the winch cable and oxygen.
Mazer looped the cable around his waist. “If it caves in when I go in there, use the cable to pull me out.”
“That might rip you in half,” said Patu. “Let me go in. I’m thinner.”
She was right. She was the more logical choice. But Mazer didn’t want her taking the risk. “I’ve got it,” he said. “Get the med kit ready.”
He chiseled away at the mud with the shovel. The earth fell away easily. When it was big enough, he crawled in up to his waist, one hand carrying the oxygen mask. “Bingwen. Can you hear me?”
The boy looked at him, blinked as if waking, and—to Mazer’s surprise—spoke in English. “My grandfather. Is he all right?”
“He’s right outside. We’re getting you both out of here. But first I need to put this mask over your mouth. I want you to take some deep breaths for me when it’s on, okay?”
Mazer placed the adult-sized mask over the boy’s face and turned on the oxygen. Bingwen took a shallow breath. Then another, stronger this time. Then a deep one, filling his lungs. The color slowly returned to his face. He blinked again, getting his bearings, waking up.
Mazer pulled his stylus from his pocket, turned on the light beam, and passed it over Bingwen and then himself. “Reinhardt, I’m sending you our position. When you bring in the talons, be sure to avoid us.”
“I see you. Stay put and you’ll be fine. Talons are ready.”