"Six and a half hours. We're off schedule by thirty minutes," Doc pronounced worriedly. "Can't be helped."
Everyone was at his post except Rowan, who sat huddled in a comer, staring bleakly at nothing.
Xris headed forward, to where Jamil sat at the controls of the launch module. He passed Rowan, but said nothing. He had no comfort to offer, knew it wouldn't be welcome even if he did. Let her alone for now. She'd be back to normal once they landed on the planet's surface, once they began to track the negative wave device.
Jamil was at the helm, Harry alongside. Screens filled the wall, but there were no windows anywhere. All the seats were high-backed, with multiple straps to hold the Special Forces teams in place during the descent.
"Jeez." Harry looked at the crude and simple controls, and was shocked. "You call this flying?"
"No," Jamil said shortly. "We call it dropping. Don't worry. It'll get us there in one piece and that's all it was meant to do."
"Ready, Xris?" Harry glanced over his shoulder. He looked and sounded reluctant.
Xris didn't blame the big man. Once the launch module let go, they would be hurtling down to the planet's surface with no defenses and only minimal guidance systems to get them there.
The "Elevator Ride from Hell," Jamil had called it.
And there would he no going back.
CHAPTER 36
The Great White Mountain Man said, "The reason deception is valued in military operations is not just for deceiving enemies, but, to begin with, for deceiving one's own troops, to get them to follow unknowingly."
Commentary on Sun Tzu's
The Art of War
The Temple of the Goddess on the planet Ceres was an enormous edifice. Built on the steppes of a mountain held sacred to the people of Ceres, the temple dominated the landscape, as it dominated the lives of its people. The complex was enormous, housing the priests and priestesses as well as the numerous acolytes and novices who served the Goddess.
The inner portion of the temple was sacrosanct, could not be entered by the uninitiated, with only a few exceptions. Today s private religious ceremonies would be perfomled within the temple confines, but the public ceremonies preceding would be held outside the temple, on a specially built platform raised above the temple steps.
As Dion had told Dixter, months of planning and preparation had been devoted to today's ceremony. It was vitally important not only for religious, but for political reasons as well. The Baroness DiLuna, mother of the queen, ruler of Ceres, and a powerful force in the galaxy, had forced this marriage on the young king in return for helping him attain the throne.
The young king and his queen had both been desperately unhappy in the marriage, which had very nearly ended in a divorce. The rift threatened the political stability of the galaxy, almost toppled the young king. Disaster had been averted, but at great cost. The near tragedy brought king and queen together as husband and wife. The birth of a Royal Prince was to be their reward.
This day would celebrate the anniversary of the Royal Couple's wedding and, most important, they would enter the temple together to dedicate the unborn child to the Goddess--an important ritual in Ceres. Thus, the king would officially sanction the religion of the Goddess throughout the galaxy; their child would be raised in the religious beliefs of both parents. And Baroness DiLuna would no longer threaten to take away her fleets, her armies, her systems, her shipping routes, and all the immense wealth these generated.
Press coverage of the day's events was unparalleled. So many reporters had converged on the planet that they almost outnumbered the populace of the capital city. Restrictions and regulations had been issued in regard to the ceremony itself and were being strictly enforced. Only the major nets could cover the event for vid broadcast; all others had to tie in to these.
Galactic Network News was present, with its highly sophisticated off-world beaming and image enhancement equipment. It would, as promised, make the viewer half a galaxy away feel as if he, she, or it were seated beside the king. In addition, GNN news anchor James M. Warden was the envy of every journalist from Ceres to Hell's Outpost for having landed an interview with the Royal Couple immediately prior to the opening of official ceremonies.
Back when Dion was Dion and not His Majesty, Warden had been the first journalist to actually predict that this young upstart with the intense blue eyes and red-gold mane of hair would someday become a powerful force in the galaxy. Warden's first interview with the would-be king was seen by political analysts today as being a major factor in the ascendance of Dion's star. The young king never forgot those who had helped him in his rise.
Warden and his cam crews were on the dignitaries' platform, trying to set up their equipment and getting in the way of the fevered workmen. A last-minute potential disaster had occurred--a swathe of bunting, draped above the royal thrones, had torn loose in an overnight windstorm and now appeared ready to tumble down and engulf both Their Majesties in billowing purple silk.
To Warden's mind, the workmen were interfering with his cam crews, who were positioning cams for the best angles and attempting to untangle and anchor down the masses of cable that wound, like the sacred snakes of Ceres, up, down, and around the platform's stairs and supports.
Warden guessed what must be going on in the mind of Cato, head of the Royal Guard. To him, all these people were damned nuisances at best, potential assassins at worst. No one was allowed this close to the king and queen without security clearance. Every living being on the platform or on the steps leading up to the platform or on the road leading to the steps that led to the platform was supposed to be wearing ID tags emitting impulses that permitted them entry into the electronic surveillance net surrounding the area.
Anyone entering without the tag would cause a break in the net, bring the guards down upon them with a swiftness that rivaled a jump into hyperspace. There had been, at last count, ten such incidents in a twenty-minute period. Four badges had fallen off. Three badges had malfunctioned. Two drunken college students, acting on a dare, had been caught without badges, as well as an elderly priestess, who had forgotten to wear her badge and was highly indignant at being detained and searched.
Warden was active in the proceedings, keeping a critical watch on his team, though he left the placement of cams and crews up to the producer and director. Frequently, he would indicate--with a wave of his hand, a nod of his head--a change, such as getting a shot of the priestess slapping at the hands of one of the Royal Guard. Warden's wishes were always accepted as commands; he was known to have an eye for such things.
He checked camera angles, tested sound levels, all the while keeping a sharp lookout for anyone of interest who might flutter into his web. Not that this was likely. The dignitaries would not arrive until they were scheduled, each being driven up to the base of the platform in official limojets in order of their rank and position. The king and queen would arrive just as the last of the others were being seated. It was during the interval of these few minutes that Warden would conduct his interview.
He was just conceding to his director, via commlink, that it seemed unlikely he'd have a chance to talk with anyone else, when he caught sight of the Lord of the Admiralty making an unexpected--to judge by the reaction of the Royal Guard--inspection tour.
Warden advanced to meet Dixter. The two came together in the midst of the fray, like enemy generals meeting on a hillside above a battle. They had known each other for years, had mutual respect for each other, if not mutual regard.
"Delighted to see you, my lord," Warden said, shaking hands. "Your name wasn't on the guest list."
"I happened to be in the vicinity," Dixter parried, "and thought I'd stop by."
Warden went in from another angle. "Any truth to the rumor that Operation Macbeth was put into effect in response to the discovery that rebellion was fomenting among the members of the armed forces?"
Warden obliquely motioned his assistant, a cam-wielding young man, to switch on his vidcam, get a good shot of th
e two of them, just in case the Lord Admiral happened to let anything slip.
Dixter smiled. "No truth to that runmr at all, Mr. Warden. We are, as we said, conducting Naval exercises."
Warden gazed intently at the Lord Admiral's face. "Do you always find Naval exercises so stressful, my lord?"
"When you detest spaceflight as much as I do, yes," Dixter returned mildly. "That's public knowledge, by the way. You won't get any mileage from seasick admiral stories."
Warden grinned amiably. "There goes my lead for tonight's broadcast. Now what about the rumors that your top code breaker has disappeared and that Naval security has been breached? Anything to that?"
"I can assure you, Mr. Warden, and the public, that galactic defenses remain strong." Dixter added politely, firmly, "And now, I'm certain you will excuse me. The other guests are arriving."
James M. Warden straightened his tie, motioned the young assistant to pan the crowd. He cast a bored glance at the first arrivals; these would be local government officials and their wives--small fish, not worthy of notice.
Warden spoke into his commlink. "Something's up. The Lord Admiral's here and he's not supposed to be. Contact your sources in the Navy and find out what the devil's going on."
It was hot standing here in the sun. Warden did not want to be seen sweating; he walked over to stand in the shade of the purple bunting. Someone found a chair for him. His makeup artist swooped down on him, began to make minor retouches. Warden watched the continuing procession of dignitaries with bored eyes. The cameraman was filming a group of children armed with flowers to be presented to the queen.
"Cute, aren't they?" Warden said to his producer.
"Yeah." The woman didn't glance at them.
"It will make a nice opener."
"I'll see that it feeds to editing. Any idea why the Lord Admiral's here?"
"I've got someone on it."
The producer nodded and left.
The dignitaries were becoming increasingly important. The cameraman switched his cam from the children to the new arrivals. Warden nodded affably at these, occasionally waved his hand. The greetings were either returned warmly or not returned at all. depending on what he'd last reported about the individual in question.
Many people remained yet to be seated, when Warden noted heads turning, the minor officials--relegated to the back--craning their necks to see what was going on. Whispers swept through the crowd. "The king and queen are arriving," reported an assistant. Warden had already glimpsed the sleek limojet with its massive armor plating and steelglass windows. A private area for the interview had been set up beneath a canopy. It was provided with comfortable chairs and even a refreshment table. The Royal Guard had the canopy cordoned off, was now scanning the chilled fruit for poison. Warden could hear the faint hum presaging a break in the electronic net. Other members of the Royal Guard went prowling through the stands.
Warden strode leisurely over to meet Their Majesties. The queen was beautiful, radiant. The king was smiling, dignified, coolly aloof and detached, but not offensively so. He was what his subjects wanted in a king, someone sublime, perfect, set apart. He was all of that and more and yet he had the rare gift to be able, on occasion, to descend from his lofty throne and remind his subjects that he was mortal--as were they.
The children were being shepherded forward to deliver their flowers. They were frightened by the commotion, overwhelmed by the prospect of being this near the king and queen. All made it, except one little boy, who dropped his flowers and burst into tears. The king knelt to the child's level, ruffled the hair on the small bent head with a gentle hand. Then, picking the flowers up from the dust, the king offered them to the queen, who accepted them with a gracious smile, a comforting word.
"That's the Blood Royal in him," Warden remarked to his cameraman.
"This will have them in tears," the cameraman predicted, his cam following the littie boy, who was looking bewildered but happy, not certain what had happened, yet realizing from the fuss the grown-ups were making--that he'd done something remarkable.
"Poor kid'll probably develop a phobia about flowers," said the producer.
The dignitaries continued to arrive. The king and queen had come early for the interview in order to be on time for the opening ceremonies. King Dion was noted for his punctuality, made it a point to always b6 where he was supposed to be on time, insisted on doing whatever it was he was supposed to be doing on time. This was undoubtedly due to the king's tight schedule--a minute late here could mean hours late somewhere else. And so no longer was it considered appropriate to be "fashionably late." The fashionably late often discovered that His Majesty had started without them.
King and queen were accompanied by Archbishop Fideles, whose religion was once viewed as being a rival to that of the Goddess. The archbishop had worked hard to close the gap, was doing everything possible to make the two differing faiths compatible.
Baroness DiLuna was also in attendance. This was her moment of triumph and she was just brazen enough to exhibit it. She would have some choice remarks today.
Captain Cato, who had once served the late Derek Sagan, kept near the Royal Couple, watchful eyes scanning the crowd. John Dixter was also on hand.
"That man hasn't slept in seventy-two hours," Warden said to himself.
His comm buzzed in his ear.
"What're you got?"
"Operation Macbeth has been canceled."
"Did they find that missing major? What was her name-Mohini?"
"No, sir. Or if they have, my source doesn't 'know about it. The Navy's changed all the codes. Everything appears to be back to normal."
"Not from where I stand," Warden said, eyeing the obviously nervous Lord Admiral. "Something's up. Keep digging."
The king's secretary, D'argent, appeared at Warden's elbow. The secretary announced that they were ready for the interview, hinted that His Majesty wasn't to be kept waiting.
Warden advanced, bowing, the cameraman following every move. The king and queen turned to greet him. Pleasantries were exchanged; offers of fruit, champagne were politely refused. Their Majesties sat down. Warden--on invitation--sat down. Cams zeroed in. Warden had opened his mouth to ask his first question when his quick eye noticed Admiral Dixter suddenly go rigid with attention. The admiral's gaze became the abstracted look of a man listening to a commlink connection.
The Lord Admiral spoke only a few words, then touched Cato's arm, said a few brief words to him. The captain's face remained impassive. He gave a sharp nod, gathered his men about him with a gesture, and walked up to the king.
"Your Majesty." Cato's tone was low, cool, urgent. "You and the queen must return to the limojet now."
Warden watched attentively. The king glanced swiftly at the Lord Admiral. Expression anxious and grim, the admiral nodded, confirmed whatever silent question the king had asked. Dion rose, gave his hand to the queen. Astarte extended her apologies calmly, managed to make this all look as if she were returning to the limojet to retrieve a forgotten lipstick.
Warden was on his feet, hastening after the king, the cameraman at his side.
The Royal Guard closed their ring of steel around the Royal Couple, hustled them back to the safety of the limojet. "What's happening?" Warden demanded, frustrated.
A ripple of motion and a collective gasp from the crowd attracted his attention. His commlink buzzed.
"You're right, Mr. Warden. Something is up. The Navy's gone on red alert around this planet! My source doesn't kmow why."
"I do," said James M. Warden.
He stared in astonishment as a drop ship plummeted out of the blue, cloudless sky, thrusters firing to slow its descent.
At first Warden thought the ship was intending to land in the midst of the million or so people gathered to watch the ceremonies--in which case the carnage and death would be horrendous. He was directing his cameraman not to miss that shot, when he realized he had misjudged the entry. The drop ship was actually landing i
n a parking lot about one kilometer from the platform.
An assassination attempt? Armed uprising? A publicity stunt?
The king and queen were being hastily and unceremoniously bundled into the limojet. The dignitaries were bewildered, incensed, indignant, or hysterical; the Royal Guard swarmed the platform.
Warden was in contact with all his camera crews, which were positioned at various sites throughout the city. "All of you, switch over to pick up that drop ship, except you, number twelve." That was the main GNN long-range image enhancer camera. "You stay focused on the king."
Warden lifted his left hand, shoved back his suit coat and shirtsleeves, looked at his watch. He depressed a small button located on the side of the dial, saw a tiny flash of white light. He smoothed his suit coat, turned to his assistant.
"Bring your cam. I'm going to try to get close enough for an interview."
CHAPTER 37
When opponents present openings, you should penetrate them immediately. Get to what they want first, subtly anticipate them. Maintain discipline and adapt to the enemy in order to determine the outcome of the war.
Sun Tzu, The Art of War
"Touchdown in five, four, three--"
Two and one were lost in the ear-shattering, spinejamming, metal-screeching, bone-crunching landing. The drop ship rocked precariously, during which Xris could hear the PVC, strapped down in the center of the vehicle, shake and rattle. He had sudden visions of several metric tonnes of armor-plated tank breaking loose from its moorings, hurtling through the bulkheads, and careening about the cramped confines of the launch module.
At least no one would worry about recovering the bodies. They'd just wash out the module's insides with a fire hose.
The shaking stopped. All was suddenly very silent, except for the hissing of the hydraulics attempting to level the tilting floor.
Xris gave himself a moment to recover from the shock, took time to make a few minor adjustments to his system-red lights were going off up and down the length of his arm. Then, unstrapping himself, he pushed himself out of his seat, was amazed at the effort it took. "Everyone okay?" he asked.
Knights Of The Black Earth Page 37
