Free Refugee by Piers Anthony Page B

low-gee we could jump much higher than normal. It wasn't as simple as jumping four times as high in one-quarter gee; it depended on technique and the center of body mass. I hadn't had much practice at this either, but I had a general notion.
    As the saucer swooped low, lower and closer than before, I launched myself upward, carrying the loop of rope in both hands. I imagined myself a rocket, jetting from a planetary berth with an important payload. It felt like straight up, but of course it was at an angle, with the inertia of the vehicle's forward motion slanting me. There was no atmospheric drag to slow me; I shot straight for the saucer. I was amazed, though I shouldn't have been; the power of my leap should have taken me up a meter within the dome, which translated to somewhere in the vicinity of four meters here, allowing for the uncertainties of the situation. That was how high the saucer now floated.
    I came right up under the bomb, and with my two hands looped the rope around the extended pincers.
    Then I fell away to the side, slowly—and saw to my horror that I had dislodged the bomb, or at least failed to prevent it from being released.
    I grabbed for it, but that was futile. I was already out of reach, and it was falling at the same rate I was.
    It was traveling right toward the transporter.
    I watched helplessly as that terrible cylinder descended. Time dilated for me; everything was in slow motion. My family faced destruction—and I could only watch.
    Then Spirit jumped up and caught the bright capsule in her hands. Still aloft, she flung it from her, behind the vehicle. She had been alert, bless her, and had done what I could not. Once again she had backstopped me, and perhaps saved us all.
    The bomb exploded as Spirit and I landed on either side of the transporter. Both of us managed to get turned to face forward and hit the ground running, for we still had that forward inertia. It was rough, but I managed to keep my balance, and so did she. We jogged to clumsy stops well behind the transporter.
    The rope was tied to the saucer pincers at one end, and anchored to the land vehicle at the other. The two machines were tied together.
    The three oldest Hubrises were in the transporter—and who was in the saucer?
    Spirit rejoined me, touching helmets. “Sierra,” she said.
    “What?” My mind was distracted by more important things than her chance remarks.
    “The scion on the saucer!”
    Suddenly it came clear! The one we had humiliated! Naturally he was out to get revenge, and he had not been satisfied with our departure from the dome of Maraud. Out here at night he could destroy us and get away with it! We had fled the dome of our own volition, leaving the protection of its law, such as it was; we had become fair targets. There wouldn't even be any inquiries.
    Sierra must have been keeping track of us, unsatisfied without the taste of blood. The arrogance of scions was almost beyond belief; a personal humiliation by a peasant was justification for murder, in this person's view. But not open murder, for then it would be known that he had acted in a cowardly manner, bombing a pedal-powered vehicle from a saucer. The nature of his humiliation might also become known.
    So his revenge had to be private and complete. Yes, it made sense at last.
    The saucer wrenched upward as its pilot realized that something was wrong—and it skewed crazily as it snapped on the end of its tether. The rope provided with out-dome vehicles is tough, for it has to stand up to the abrasion of sharp rocks and the stress of hauling a vehicle out of a mine cave-in. That saucer could not break free!
    With a gravity lens, a saucer can lift any amount that will fit in its hold, because the load has no weight—provided the lens is between the load and the planet. But the rope anchored the saucer to the transporter below the lens, with its full quarter-gee weight. This was too much to lift. The propulsive rockets (no propeller out here in