Steel called together a dozen runners, and sent them out into the city to organize the Watch and the militias, knowing even as he did so that they weren’t going to be enough. Mistport had depended for too long on its psionic screen. Secure in its protection, the Watch had gone soft, and no one had taken the militias seriously in years. Steel grunted. The people of Mistport were still fighters. They had to be, just to survive. If the Empire forces thought they were just going to walk in and take over, they were in for a shock. And then Steel studied the remaining sensor screens, and the still growing count of the approaching pinnaces, and his blood ran cold. There were hundreds of them. This was no task force, it was a full-sized army. The invasion of Mistworld had begun.
High above, floating in its huge tank, Legion stretched out its invisible hands and stirred its sticky fingers in the minds of the espers down below. Legion was the product of thousands of esper brains crossed with barely understood tech systems derived from alien technology, and even its designers hadn’t fully understood what they were creating. Legion was far greater than the sum of its parts, and greater by far than the fools that had brought it into being. For the moment it followed orders, because it was having so much fun, but tomorrow was another day. It stretched out its power and espers died, their merely human brains unable to withstand the pressure. Others retreated deep inside themselves, shutting down their minds in self-protection. Some brave souls tried to probe Legion, and went crazy trying to understand its nature. Legion laughed, and spread its power in a great rolling wave that covered all of Mistport in one long unending scream of triumph. Even the non-espers could hear it, and cringed away from the awful, inhuman sound.
Steel turned away from the chaos that raged inside his control tower, an icy hand clutching at his stomach while sweat rolled down his face. He’d lived in fear of this moment all his life, but had never really believed it would happen. Like everyone else, he’d grown complacent. Even when Typhoid Mary had been running amok in the streets and alleyways of Mistport, he’d still been able to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. With a little help from his friends. But now his defenses were down, the psionic shield had failed, and soon the Empire forces would be howling at the gate, eager for blood and destruction. Steel swallowed hard, pulled himself together as best he could, and turned to his comm officer, sitting hunched over the mostly useless systems.
“All right, people, pay attention. With our comm systems out, this tower is now useless, except as a bloody obvious target for the incoming troops. So our first duty is to get the hell out of here. We’re no use to anybody dead. Crash all the systems that are still working before you go. We don’t want to leave anything that might be used against us. Somewhere here there should be worst-scenario files, telling you all what to do and where to go. Security should know. So, fight well, die hard, and take as many of the bastards with you as you can. Failing that, run like fury. Pep speech over; I’m out of here. And the good God protect us all.”
He turned away and began packing a few useful things into a holdall. It occurred to him that he might never see this room again. Never give orders as Port Director again. Whatever happened next, a chapter in his life was closing, and he didn’t know whether to feel sad or relieved. Being Director had been a hard and thankless task, even with his little schemes on the side to rake in money. But he’d taken his job seriously, and protected the city, his city, as best as he was able. Until now. And all he could do now was cut and run, abandoning his home to whoever could take and hold it. He sighed, and fastened the bulging holdall. They really should have got around to installing that self-destruct system, but they’d always put it off, thinking there was plenty of time.
Around him, raised voices were blending into an angry, deafening din, with just a trace of panic in it. Steel ignored it all and made his way out of the control tower, never once looking back. He had other duties now. As a member of the ruling city Council, he had to get together with the others and start organizing the city’s defenses. What was left of them. Out in the street it was chaos, with people running and pushing every way at once. Steel used his great bulk to plow a way through the crowds. He felt better now he was doing something, now he had an objective. If he could just reach the Blackthorn Inn, he might yet be able to show the invading forces some unexpected and really nasty surprises.
It took him the best part of an hour to get there, fighting the surging crowds all the way. The word had got out, inevitable in a city like Mistport, and there was pandemonium in the streets. People were shouting and running, brandishing weapons that ranged from energy guns to generations-old blades, handed down through families for just such a day as this. Some made bold speeches of defiance, while others prophesied doom, and would-be warriors and refugees tried blindly to push each other out of the way. Street barricades were already going up here and there, causing unfortunate bottlenecks of desperate people. Pickpockets and cutpurses were having the time of their lives. This was Mistport, after all, and neither invasion nor sudden death could be allowed to get in the way of turning a quick profit. Steel kept his head down and bulled his way through.
When he finally got to the Blackthorn Inn, in the heart of Thieves Quarter, the place was already packed to overflowing, with lights blazing from every window. It couldn’t have looked more like a target if it had tried. Most of the Council had beaten him there, but were too busy shouting and screaming at each other to acknowledge his arrival. Typical, thought Steel, and left them to get on with it. He pushed his way wearily to the long wooden bar. He felt in need of a stiff drink, and to hell with his ulcers. Cyder, the tavern owner, was helping to dispense drinks at the bar, alongside a sepulchral bartender, and Steel ordered several large brandies from her, in the same glass, on the grounds that it might be some time before he could slip away to order more. Cyder poured the brandies into a large silver tankard with only the slightest of winces, and smiled broadly at Steel.
“If I’d known the emergency Council was going to be this good for business, I’d have volunteered long ago.”
“Now that is typical of you, Cyder,” said Steel. “The whole city is about to get trashed, and us with it, and all you’re worried about is your profit margin.”
Cyder batted her eyes at him. “A girl has to look out for herself.”
“Please don’t do that,” said Steel. “On you, it looks unnatural.”
Cyder shrugged. “Whoever’s in charge of Mistport, people will still want to drink. And soldiers’ money is as good as anyone else’s.”
“Assuming they don’t burn the Blackthorn to the ground for harboring the emergency Council,” said Steel, taking a large gulp from his glass.
“Damn,” said Cyder. “I hadn’t thought of that. Why did you choose my place anyway?”
“Because it’s central. Because no one will be looking for the Council in a dive like this. And because you know practically everyone in this city. A perfect combination. I’d order some more barrels brought up from the cellar, if I were you. People are going to be rushing in and out of here like their pants were on fire, once the Council gets its act together, and they’re probably all going to want large drinks. Imminent danger and the chance of sudden death will do that to you. I don’t suppose there’s any sign of Donald Royal yet?”
“Not so far. But he’s an old man, and it’s a long way to come for him. Even if he can get through the madness in the streets.”
“Damn. He’s the only other person on the Council I can trust to do the right thing. I’ll bet you there are some damn fools already talking about negotiating a surrender with honor.”
“Look on the bright side,” said Cyder. “At least this time we don’t have to worry about Typhoid Mary running loose.”
“No,” said Investigator Topaz coldly. “You don’t.”
Steel and Cyder both looked around sharply as Topaz and Mary made their way through the crowd to join them at the bar. People moved quickly to get out of the way of the two women. Even the danger o
f an invasion hadn’t blinded them to common courtesy and the need for self-preservation. Steel gave them his best professional, everything’s-under-control smile, but neither of them looked in the least impressed, so he dropped it. Cyder glared at Mary, one hand rising unconsciously to the thin scars on her face, legacy of their last meeting, when Mary had nearly killed Cyder with a single deadly song. Cyder never had been one to forgive or forget.
Steel decided he’d better get the ball rolling before things started getting seriously out of hand. “About time you got here, Investigator. I’m putting you in charge of the city Watch, as from this moment. You know more about how the Empire fights, and how best to face them, than anyone else. Give whatever orders you feel necessary, requisition anything you need, and we’ll argue about it later. I want every single warm body in the Watch out on the streets ten minutes ago, and no excuses, dammit! Spank a few if you have to.
“Your first objective is to clear the streets of all non-essential traffic. With the comm systems down, we’re going to have to rely on runners, and I don’t want them having to fight their way through panicking crowds. So, clear the streets. Break a few heads if you have to. Next, track down everyone who’s got some kind of weapon and send them out to guard the boundary walls. Tell them to hold as long as they can, and then fall back street by street. Hopefully by then I’ll have thought of something else to do with them.”
“Shouldn’t you clear this first with the rest of the Council?” said Mary.
“That bunch? I’ve seen better-organized anarchists’ meetings. They’ll back me up, once they’ve calmed down a little. Why are you still standing here?”
“Anything else?” said Topaz, entirely unmoved by Steel’s glare.
“Well, if you can work a miracle, this would be a really good time to prove it,” said Steel. “And, Topaz, whatever happens you are not to let Mary out of your sight for any reason. She’s too powerful to be allowed to operate as a loose cannon.”
“I understand,” said Mary. “All I want is to help, Director.”
Steel looked at her narrowly. “Half my espers can hardly think with this new Empire device jamming their powers. How come you’re holding out so well?”
“My mind is still my own, Director. I was and am a very powerful Siren. The Council’s deprogramming didn’t take that away from me.”
“Not for want of trying,” said Steel. “All right, stick with Topaz, and if you have to use your voice, make sure you’re pointing it in the right direction. Now get out of here, the pair of you. I’ve got a city to defend.”
Only a few hours after Legion was forced to drop its disguise, the first Empire troops came flying out of the icy wastes beyond the city, hundreds of them crammed onto armored gravity sleds and barges. They came in waves, more and more of them, soaring over the boundary walls as though they weren’t even there. A few disrupter bolts lanced upward, only to be harmlessly deflected by glowing force fields. An Imperial attack usually centered around heavily armored battle wagons and war machines, but the cold and the snow and the ice of Mistworld slowed them down too much, and most were too large anyway to maneuver in Mistport’s narrow streets, so the softening up of the city fell to the Imperial air divisions. They came howling out of the darkening skies like so many rabid bats, sleek and deadly, disrupter bolts stabbing down again and again, lighting the streets bright as day as the energy beams exploded buildings of stone and wood and set the ruins ablaze. People ran screaming in the streets as the barges sailed serenely overhead, carrying death and destruction and the coming of Empire rule.
The gravity sleds chased people down the streets, whipping in and out between the narrow buildings, harrying and terrorizing their prey until they grew tired of their sport, and cut the runners down with flashing energy bolts. The air divisions pressed on, leaving fire and devastation behind them, until suddenly espers came flying up out of the streets to face them.
The esper union had pulled its strongest minds together and pushed aside Legion’s block for the moment. They knew it wouldn’t last, but for now they struggled with Legion and held it back, so that a hundred brave souls could fly on wings of esp up to meet the invaders on their own high ground. The espers whipped around the slower-moving Imperial craft, darting in and out too fast to be tracked. Some had energy guns, some had crossbows, some had nothing but naked steel and their own indomitable courage. Force shields crackled and failed around the gravity barges as down in the streets espers strained to hex their tech and drain their power batteries. Imperial troops screamed and fell from their craft as the fast-flying espers took their toll, sniping at unguarded targets, but the air force was just too big and unstoppable, and its targeting computers soon came on line, taking out the flying defenders one by one, for all their speed and courage. They fell out of the dark sky like burning birds, and the air force pressed on.
More espers came soaring up out of the streets to take the place of those who fell. With their city endangered, their way of life threatened, and their backs almost literally to the wall, many in Mistport found courage and honor where they would have sworn there was none, and went to the fight with calm eyes and grim determination. They lunged and soared, using familiar updrafts and hiding places to confound the targeting computers, stinging their targets like deadly insects.
Some deliberately threw themselves into the gravity barges’ engine bays, suicide attacks that were only occasionally successful. When a barge did fall from the sky, it crashed into fragile stone-and-timber buildings, crushing them with its immense weight. Exploding barges destroyed whole streets and spread fire across whole blocks. And for each barge that fell, there were always more to take its place, moving remorselessly forward about the city they had come to take.
They moved slowly inward from every side, creating paths of death and destruction, heading for the center of the city, block by block, street by street. They kept to their previously arranged paths, ignoring the rest of the city. The Empire had come to conquer and control Mistport, not destroy it.
There were fires burning all across the city now, flames leaping high into the night sky. Screams came drifting up from the streets below. Hell had come to Mistport, and Toby Shreck and his cameraman Flynn were right there in the thick of it, keeping up a live broadcast. Flynn’s camera darted and soared above the inferno of the burning streets and blazing buildings, getting it all, while Toby kept up a breathless running commentary. This far above the devastation, it was easy to feel detached and godlike, but Toby did his best now and again to remind his audience that real people were burning and dying in the fires and ruins below. Not that most of them would care. That just added to the excitement for the home audience.
Toby clung to the railings at the edge of the gravity barge as the boiling heat of a sudden updraft rocked the barge from side to side. Flynn was so taken with what he was seeing through his camera that he quite forget to hold the railing, and almost toppled over the side before Toby grabbed him and pulled him back. The cameraman didn’t even nod his thanks. He was far away with his darting camera, swooping and soaring over the rising flames like an impartial angel recording the birth of Hell.
“Getting good footage?” asked Toby loudly in Flynn’s ear.
“If only you could see what I’m seeing,” said Flynn. “People have seen war footage before, but never this close, never this clearly. I can zoom in on individual buildings, individual people, or pull back to a panorama of the whole damned city. It’s beautiful, Toby. The scarlet and gold against the black of night. The burning buildings, and the flames . . . it has a majesty and a grandeur that’s beyond pity or compassion. It doesn’t need excuses; it just is. A city is dying one inch at a time, and I’m getting it all. The colors are amazing—bright and primitive and striking. And the roar of the explosions is like a giant walking across the city, one great step at a time, as the ground shakes beneath his tread. It’s . . . exhilarating.”
“Smell the smoke,” said Toby. “That’s burning flesh a
mongst the wood and grime. Listen to the screams. Don’t get carried away, Flynn. This isn’t an invasion; this is a slaughter.”
He broke off as a flying esper came howling out of the darkness toward him. The esper was armed with an automatic crossbow, jury-rigged from forbidden tech, and his deadly bolts stitched across the armed men at the railings as they tried in vain to draw a bead on him. They fell back from the railing, crying out as they clutched at transfixing arrows. Toby grabbed Flynn and threw them both to the deck. A nearby disrupter cannon turned to bear on the next building, and the esper was suddenly hovering there before it. He thrust his arm down the barrel, blocking it. Toby looked up, and their eyes met. The esper grinned savagely, scared shitless and not giving a damn, and then the bomb in his hand went off, blowing the cannon apart. The esper was thrown backwards, blood fountaining from the shoulder where his right arm had been. He fell toward the street far below, laughing breathlessly. Toby watched him fall until he disappeared back into the smoke and the flames.
Lieutenant Ffolkes came staggering down the deck toward Toby and Flynn, stepping gingerly over the injured and the dying. He had a gun in his hand, and there was blood spattered across one sleeve of his uniform. It didn’t appear to be his. He looked over the railings, and nodded calmly at the burning city as though quietly satisfied.
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