Free Mutiny by Mike Resnick

outrace an energy pulse or a laser beam. He glanced up the mountain. Could a good loud yell start a landslide? He doubted it—and if it could, he'd be caught in it, too.
    He looked at the forest again. What's the point? They'll just set it on fire.
    And then: Wait a minute! I've been looking at it all wrong! It won't be a furnace—it'll be the biggest damned lightbulb on the planet!
    He veered for the trees and was less than ten yards into them when the first laser beam hit a huge old tree, which erupted into flame. He kept going, never slowing his pace. They can't shoot around or over me, not with laser pistols. They've got to burn 'em one at a time until the fire spreads and- takes on a life of its own. All I have to do is keep ahead of them and hope the forest doesn't go on for miles.
    The ground leveled out and he increased his speed. He could hear the wood and leaves crackling behind him, could smell the acrid scent of burning wood, but he didn't look back. After he'd gone a quarter of a mile the heat became oppressive, and he sensed that the fire would soon surround him.
    He thought he saw a clearing a little way ahead, and he forced his legs to carry him across that final stretch of ground. When he arrived he saw that it wasn't a clearing but rather a mountain stream wending its way through the forest. With burning branches falling all around him he didn't have time to see if it was more than a few inches deep; he simply plunged into it and hoped the current was strong enough to carry him down the mountain before falling trees blocked his way.
    The water was cold, but not icy. It was about four feet deep, and he tried to stay beneath the surface except when he needed to take breaths of air. Rocks tore gouges in his legs and belly, but he didn't dare to swim on the surface until he felt he'd put almost a mile between himself and his pursuers. They weren't going to swim in a stream that had hidden rocks, not with those helmets, and they weren't going to make any progress through the blazing inferno they'd created. They'd have to walk around it, and they had no way of knowing that he hadn't been caught in the conflagration. They'd keep looking, of course, but with a decreasing sense of urgency. He was out of visual range by now; unless one of them lucked out and spotted him with a sensor, he was probably safe for the time being—and the chase had begun so suddenly that he didn't think any of them had had the presence of mind to grab a sensor before racing after him.
    Which didn't mean he could stop or even slow down. He rode the stream another mile, then climbed onto the shore and began walking alongside it. When the area became more open, he turned away from the stream and began descending along rockier ground.
    The sun finally set, and he had to proceed more carefully, fully aware that the advantage was now all with the Bortellites. His legs began cramping. He ignored the pain as long as he could, but finally he had to stop. He counted to two hundred, then got up and began walking, a bit more slowly this time.
    He looked up the mountain, hoping for a sign that would let him know how close they were and how vigorously they were pursuing him, but they used no lights and there was simply no way to know. He was reasonably sure that they'd circle the forest and, finding no sign that he had emerged on the far side, would assume he'd been caught in the fire. Then one of them would spot the stream and suggest he'd used it to escape the blaze. They'd send a few soldiers down the stream to be on the safe side, but if he could keep going for two more hours he was in the clear, because they weren't going to get too far away from where their shuttle would land. He may have been running low on energy, but they were running low on their oxygen mixture.
    Suddenly he heard a shuffling sound on the path below him.
    How the hell did they get past me? I thought I had at least a mile on them.
    The sound repeated, and then he saw the