The Rainbow Dawn forces had their defenses up now, and a lucky shot took out the stabilizers in the nearest gunboat. It wobbled away, its complement of Navy fighting men dropping out of it in escape harnesses.
“Fire! Fire!” screamed Sankley, and was nearly bowled over as three panic-stricken Peomers rushed for the main gate.
A single blast from the dreadnought took out a large part of the south wall and shattered what remained of the windows.
Another blast from the dreadnought and another quadrant of the courtyard wall fell.
On the opposite side, the guard station no longer seemed much protection for Jessine. She ducked through it, into the outer court.
She looked around for a place to hide and, finding none, turned east away from the attacking Navy craft.
Jessine heard the next volley of firing and saw another section of the house heave, blast and fall to pieces. She kept going toward the outer walls, seeing only a few running Peomers and one exhausted Zambretic servant sitting on the grassy slope, gasping for breath and pounding the turf with all four of his fists. Another explosion behind her sent Jessine running for more protective distance between her and the main fortress.
A second dreadnought appeared, this one holding back, its cannon trained on the fortress, hovering in case more might was needed.
Jessine reached the breach in the walls and hesitated. She was safe from Rainbow Dawn now, but what of the Navy? What might Admiral Sclerida have in store for her if she remained within the grounds of the Orchid?
The dreadnought fired again, and this time the west side of the Orchid blew up. Without another qualm Jessine slipped through the gaping hole in the wall into the verdure of Horizon Park.
Chapter 9
Wiley was groggy from physical and emotional shock. He wiped his hand across his forehead, subconsciously trying to rub away present reality and return himself to the familiar round of wealth and privilege in which he’d spent his life until this terrible day.
The armored aircar didn’t have windows, but Wiley could see the forward vision screens past the shoulders of the driver and co-driver. The vehicle was slanting down toward a huge sty-colored dome in which the aircar’s own reflection raced toward Wiley’s eyes at redoubled speed.
They shot through the barrier into dimness rather than shattering impact. The dome was a polarizing bubble rather than a materiel wall. The shield not only protected the interior from observation, it combed sunlight and decreased the degree of illumination beneath the dome. Cernian eyes were adapted to much lower light levels than those of humans—
And almost all the figures Wiley saw within the domed enclosure were Cernians. There were hundreds of the aliens, driving equipment, unloading cargo and performing maintenance on the dozen or so starships on the ground within the domed starport. Perhaps there were more: the enclosed area was so large that moving figures were lost against its scale.
“This is Haiken Maru headquarters, isn’t it?” demanded Wiley pugnaciously. “I know it is! The bubble north of the city is Haiken Maru headquarters!” One of the Cernian guards blinked twice at him. The others didn’t give even that much acknowledgement.
The aircar slowed. Besides barracks, sheds, and a maintenance hangar capable of holding one of the grounded starships, the headquarters complex included three-hundred-story concrete warehouse towers. The aircar slowed further as the driver angled toward the landing pad on the roof of the central tower.
“We are arriving,” one of the Cernians informed Wiley. It was the first time any of them had spoken since they had spirited Wiley away from the Kona Tatsu station.
“I can see that,” said Wiley. He rubbed at his eyes, wondering if it was his hands or his face that felt so rough. The pilot set the aircar down and cut the engine. The silence was abrupt. Wiley had not been aware of how loud the aircar was until now.
“You will leave after I do,” the Cernian informed him, holding a Meinhauser pistol aimed at the center of Wiley s chest.
“You bet,” said Wiley. He tried not to shiver as he looked at the pistol, but he could not completely conceal his fear. His captors pushed him toward an access door. Air puffed out as the door opened: it was an airlock, and the pressure within was higher than ambient at this altitude.
Wiley stepped into the chamber in front of his guard. The outer door shut behind them and pressure built. The building was a sealed unit with enough positive internal air pressure to prevent gas or biotoxins from being introduced from the outside in the event of an attack.
“Move along,” said the Cernian, gesturing with his Meinhauser as the inner door opened.
“I’m moving,” said Wiley.
Beyond the airlock was a reception hall two stories high and domed with a tremendous stained glass window representing all the worlds on which the Haiken Maru traded. Beneath this, the room was filled with priceless antiques, including a set of twenty-first-century gaming tables; a full suit of armor; and in a place of honor, a genuine 1957 Cadillac in perfect condition, its doors open for those who wished to sit in it.
Wiley was still studying the eclectic but fascinating collection when the far door opened and a middle-aged man, broad of shoulder and broader of girth, stepped through. Wiley recognized Senator Lomax as the man extended his hand in welcome.
“Good afternoon, good afternoon, my lad,” he cried merrily. “I’m very sorry about the inconvenience, but you understand we didn’t have time to explain things when we rescued you.”
Wiley stared at him. “Rescued?”
“Certainly, most certainly,” said Senator Lomax with all the sincerity he was capable of showing. “We couldn’t have the Secretary’s heir in the hands of the Kona Tatsu, now could we? No telling what those sly devils would do with you. Damien Ver doesn’t have to account for how he handles his work. But that’s going to change. Isn’t it?”
“Is it?” Wiley asked, uncertain how to react to this affable reception.
“Well, of course it will,” said Senator Lomax, at last grasping Wiley’s hand and shaking it with fervor. “You’re just the lad to make the change. And you’ll find me ready to help you do it. You’ll have all the support you could ask for. No more of this Kona Tatsu secrecy. Openness. That’s the answer.” He turned on his heel, indicating his remarkable collection. “Let me apologize for the atmosphere. This building has some special requirements, and I daresay you’ll get used to it shortly. There’s nothing harmful in the environmental adaptation, not for humans. People in trade get used to these things. Well, what do you think?”
This was much too fast for Wiley. He regarded Senator Lomax narrowly. He answered a question with a question of his own. “What’s your plan? The Kona Tatsu’s job is to protect me. What makes you think they’ll give me up?”
Lomax kept smiling. “My dear boy, you must be starving. I’ll have some dinner sent up right away.”
Wiley had not missed every political dinner and knew an evasion when he heard one. He didn’t think he’d be able to learn anything more from Lomax and he didn’t pursue the question.
“Yes, thank you.” But he kept his eyes open and tried to see everything.
Lomax left the room briefly, then returned with a bottle and a pair of glasses. “Dinner will be here shortly, but I thought you might like an aperitif.” He set the glasses down on a marble-topped buffet and fumbled with the bottle’s seals. “I couldn’t trust this to the servants,” he said. “Too precious.”
Wiley wondered if the bottle might not have been safer in the hands of a servant. Lomax looked as though he might drop it at any moment.
“I must say,” Lomax grunted, at last releasing the cork. “Your father’s regrettable demise caught me a little unprepared. It was not expected, not so soon, at any case.” He poured a golden liquid into the glasses and handed one to Wiley. “We—the Haiken Maru—had to speed up our operations to keep the Pact from failing. But we are prepared to support you, my lad, and we have the men to make you High Secretary within t
he next two days.”
“Pardon me, but I believe that job belongs to the Kona Tatsu,” replied Wiley. “They are, after all, the High Secretary’s police.”
Lomax frowned. “We have reason to believe that the head of the Kona Tatsu—Damien Ver, you know him—intends to try to take the Secretariat for himself.”
Wiley rolled the stem of the glass between his fingers and studied the resulting small moments in the liquid. “I see. What do you intend to do about that?” He wasn’t sure he believed Lomax, but didn’t know Ver well enough to deny the charge.
“I have at my command right now over one hundred thousand Cernian mercenaries,” replied Lomax. “Fully armed and with all necessary materiel. They are ready to stop this incursion from the Navy and place you at once at the head of the Secretariat. They will also defend you from the Kona Tatsu.”
“Splendid,” murmured Wiley. “I can see you have my best interests at heart.”
“Certainly. Certainly. And for the moment, you really ought to relax. Let me provide a little entertainment for you.” He made a signal and a concealed door opened.
There were five women, all different and all stunning. Each of them was dressed elegantly and each smiled at him as if there were no one else in the room.
“Let me say that the Cernians are utterly loyal to Haiken Maru,” said Senator Lomax, convinced that Wiley could not possibly be concentrating on his words. “We hold their contract, and without our endorsement there is nowhere on Earth they can go or hide.”
The fairest of the women reached Wiley and slid her arms around him, placing her soft lips at the corner of his mouth. She was shapely and pliant, fitting her body against his as if there were no clothes between them.
Senator Lomax sipped at his drink. “There is a small chamber to which you might wish to retire.”
The woman holding Wiley nodded and tugged him toward an elaborate gold-chased door. He followed, setting his glass, untouched, on the hood of the ’57 Cadillac.
###
The AID Nika had given him at the safehouse broke away from one of its belt loops. Wiley grabbed for it. The other loop broke and the whole unit fell to the floor.
The AID’s casing crumbled. It was as rotten as ice that’s been sitting for weeks in subfreezing temperatures, subliming directly from solid into gas without passing through a liquid state.
A human in coveralls with orange and yellow Haiken Maru collar flashes burst into the reception hall from a side door. One of the women caressing Wiley began to scream. Behind the shouting human was a Cernian whose garments were slick with blood.
The alien collapsed in the doorway, jamming the panel open. In the corridor beyond him were three more Cernians, fallen and hemorrhaging through their skin. Purple-tinged blood pooled on the tiles beneath them. Their eyes and tongues protruded. One of the aliens thrashed mindlessly; the other two bent backward in bone-breaking convulsions.
Only dusty traces remained of the AID s casing. The plastic had begun to decay into gases toxic to Cernian metabolisms as soon as Wiley brought the unit into the higher atmospheric pressure of the sealed building. Nika—the Kona Tatsu—had used him as a Trojan horse!
Senator Lomax waved a control stylus. Vision screens flashed from behind panels all around the reception hall. Each screen displayed a different facet of the reality universal within the immense building: Cernians dying in blood and agony.
Lomax pointed his stylus at Wiley. “You did this!” the Senator shouted. “You did this! Kill him!”
The aide who’d been too horror struck to report intelligently now scrabbled at the pistol holster hanging from his belt. One of the women tried to grab Wiley. Wiley knocked her aside and bolted for the doorway.
Another human was coming toward him from the other end of the corridor. “Where are you going?” the Haiken Maru employee demanded. “Who are—”
Bullets from the reception hall ripped the cornice molding above Wiley’s head. The second human drew his pistol with an inarticulate shout. Wiley leaped into the dropshaft in the middle of the corridor, then dodged out at the next level down.
And into a precinct of Hell.
Weapons and materiel of all sorts lay strewn amid the bodies of violently convulsing Cernians. Huge lesions were opening in many of the bodies, and grotesquely swollen organs protruded as the aliens contorted in unspeakable agony.
He couldn’t bring himself to pick up any of the guns lying there for the taking, not if it meant getting any closer to the dying Cernians. He ran as quickly as he could, taking care where he stepped. Twice he slid on welling blood and once a feeble Cernian hand almost closed on his ankle.
Finally through the gloom, Wiley spotted another dropshaft, turned and dashed for it, as much to escape the carnage around him as to put more distance between him and any pursuers. As he reached the dropshaft he consulted the levels: 104 to G. He rode it all the way to Level 1.
There were Cernians here as well. Thick mucus ran from their eyes and their dying bodies were slick with blood. The stench was hideous. On the far side of the expanse of dying and dead aliens there were humans, armed and determined, and shooting at him.
To his right, almost against one wall, there were sleek Cobra tanks. At the head of the phalanx, one of them was purring, idling in this charnel vault.
Wiley raced for it with all the speed he possessed, hoping that if any of the bullets struck, they would kill him at once; he did not want to die slowly in all this wretchedness.
There was a Cernian driver in the tank, his chest burst open, his arms slick with blood. He was not quite dead. Wiley hesitated, but the shooting didn’t, so he dragged the alien out of the tank. Hurriedly, he climbed in, and without bothering to try to figure out how to close the hatch, slipped into the driver’s position. He set the huge machine in motion, heading toward the loading bays tremendous doors. He could hear bullets and grenades bouncing off the armored hide of the tank, and he began to hope that he would make it out after all.
The door buckled, moaned, and gave way as Wiley smashed the Cobra directly at its center.
Only then did he realize that the G on the dropshaft indicated Ground, not Garage, and he was hurtling out into a twenty-foot drop with an expanse of port paving below.
Chapter 10
Chaney had pulled himself up onto the skid and was clinging with all his limbs. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on. He reached up and pounded on the underside of the hull, hoping Tira could hear and would do something.
In fact, the aircar’s motion was so erratic that Tira thought it was damaged. She was wondering if she dared set down. No, she was all alone; Sclerida would catch her. She heard pounding and checked her bottom view mirror. It was Chaney. She opened the hatch; maybe Chaney would be able to climb in. She dared not cut her speed to aid him.
Chaney heard the hatch open above him. It was a few moments before he had the courage to look. Maybe . . .
He stretched. Reached for a handhold inside the door. One hand in. Good.
Tira heard him behind her and finally put the controls on auto. She reached him as he was trying to throw a leg into the cabin. She grabbed the leg and pulled.
“Ouch!” The rest of him bumped and tumbled over the threshold and into the aircar. Tira fell back against the opposite bulkhead.
“You okay?” she asked, catching her breath.
“Fine,” answered Chaney. “My favorite way to board an aircar.”
“Try not to be so late next time,” she replied.
Stumbling to his feet, Chaney closed the hatch. Tira rose also and they embraced silently.
“Are you really okay?” she finally asked.
“Really,” he answered. “A little bruised, no problem. How about you?”
“I’m okay.” She sat back in the pilots chair and took the controls back to manual. “A little confused.”
Chaney dropped into the co-pilot’s seat and sighed. “Yeah. It’s like this. My parents split. I stayed with my moth
er and my brother Dov went with him . . . with our father. I kept my mother’s name. I guess I took her side, too, but . . . well, she was right and he was a slime mold. Still is. An ambitious slime mold.”
“I thought you meant he was dead.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just . . . I wanted to love him. He was my father, you know? And then . . . I guess he didn’t really change. I just found out things I hadn’t known about him. It was like losing him. I didn’t want him to be my father anymore.”
Tira considered. “I guess,” she said after a while, “that in that respect I haven’t really lost my father. He’s still my father. It’s just his physical presence I’ve lost.” Her voice caught at the end of her sentence and Chaney reached out a hand.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She shook her head. “I’ve got to pull myself together. Figure out what to do next.”
Chaney nodded, squeezed her hand and let go. “Do you have a destination in mind? We should really ditch this car; they’ve almost certainly got a tracer on it.”
Tira grimaced. “Not good. But actually, I do have a plan,” she said, and there was a little mischief back in her smile. “If they’re tracing us, and if you think they might have plans, then we might as well go right back to the Secretarial Palace.” Her smile did not hold up through her last few words, but her resolution was clear.
“What?” said Chaney, unable to sit upright harnessed into his couch.
“Because,” she went on with purpose, “I’ve been thinking about it, and I suspect that is the place they would least expect me to go. Besides, the Palace is so confused they won’t be able to mount much of a search for us. They’ll have their hands full just getting in the front door.”
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