Also by Scott Westerfeld The first book in the trilogy ... - Webgarden

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found the bound and gagged Mr. Hirst.
“Keep moving,” Volger whispered. “We’re half a kilometer from the fence. They’ll search the ship
before they think to look out here.”
Alek broke into a run, shuddering to think what beasts the Darwinists would send after them. The
six-legged sniffer dogs? The awful flechette bats? Or were there even worse creatures aboard the ship?
The alarm spread along the long, dark silhouette behind them, the gondola lights flickering from soft
green to brilliant white. On Alek’s shoulder the creature softly imitated the sounds of the alert, the barks
and cries of the hounds, the shouts and whistles of command.
“I’m not sure that’s helpful,” he muttered to it.
“Helpful,” the creature repeated softly.
A minute later a blinding searchlight lanced out from the ship’s spine. At first it pointed at the airfield
gate, but slowly it began to turn, like a lighthouse on a dark ocean.
So much for the Darwinists letting them slip away.
“You four go ahead,” Klopp said, his face bright red. “I can’t keep running like this!”
Alek slowed his pace, taking the man’s heavy tool kit from him. “Nonsense, Klopp. Spreading out just
makes it easier for them to spot us.”
“He’s right,” Volger said. “Stick close together.”
Alek glanced over his shoulder. The light was swinging toward them, rippling across the grass like a
luminous wave.
“Get down!” he whispered, and the five of them dropped flat to the ground.
The blinding light flashed past, but didn’t stop on them—it had been aimed too high. The spotlight crew
were searching the airfield from the outside in, checking the boundaries first. But Alek doubted Klopp
could make it to the fence before the light swung round again.
The newborn creature’s claws tightened on his shoulder, and it made a new noise in his ear … a sound
like fluttering wings.
Alek glanced back at the ship, his eyes widening. A dark cloud was boiling up from beneath the
gondola, thousands of black forms spilling into the air. The tempest of wings climbed through the
searchlight’s beam, glittering with the flash of steel talons.
“Strafing hawks,” Alek breathed. Back on the glacier, he’d seen the hawks in action against German
soldiers. And just yesterday he’d seen a crewman sharpening the steel talons they wore, like a razor on a
leather strap.
The birds spread out from the ship, and soon the air above was full of fluttering shapes.
Alek looked ahead—the fence was only a hundred meters away.
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