Crisis Of Empire - Crown Of Empire Part 12

Chaney stood still as he took this in. Then he raised his voice. "Uncle Ken! Uncle Ken!" He started toward the platform, lira tagging along behind him.

The man turned, smiling in welcome. "Yon!"

he called. "At last"

Chaney was half-way to the platform now.

Thank G.o.d you're all right. It's been pretty hec- tic out there."

"I can imagine," said Uncle Ken, and his smile faded.

"What is it?" Chaney asked, closing the gap between them. "What's going on?"

Uncle Ken looked around, indicating with a gesture that this was not the place for such a dis- cussion. He addressed the escort. Thank you, Bycroft, you may leave now."

"As you wish." said the young officer, saluting briskly before turning his men and exiting from the conference hall quickly.

"If you two will come with me," said Uncle

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Ken thoughtfully, "I think we can explain every- thing. Demoiselle Bouriere, I know you must be worried for your family." His sympathy seemed genuine enough, but Tira hung back from Uncle Ken, placing more faith in the man she knew.

There was a side door and Uncle Ken led them through it while discussing the size of the under- ground installation. "There's quite a complex above us, on the surface, but its nothing like this."

"What is on the surface?" asked Tira.

"I thought I told you," said Uncle Ken as they entered yet another short hallway. "There's a large complex of administrative buildings,"

"In the middle of the desert?" said Tira.

"Room is precious, even in this part of the planet," said Uncle Ken, ushering them into a side room.

Four Navy men were waiting, and they stepped up to Chaney, confining his arms and taking his pistol.

"What the devil. . . !" Chaney burst out. He struggled, trying to strike out at the four men.

Uncle Ken shook his head in commiseration.

"I'm sony, my boy, truly sony. But you've gotten too deep in something you should have avoided.

You cannot be allowed to interfere." He started to add something when a loud report filled the room.

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There was a smoking hole in the side of Tira s reticule, and a much larger, bleeding one at the base of Uncle Kens ribs. She stepped aside as Uncle Ken collapsed, and carefully pulled the Samtoepoe A7mark923 into view. "I think," she said very calmly, "that you had better let him go,"

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Jessine blinked. She felt as though her internal dock had been set to zero. But the sounds of bat- tle raged on outside, so she couldn't have been out long. She leaned against the harness she had fought so vigorously and gave it a grateful pat.

She became aware of the bubble of silence within the storm and looked around, hesitantly.

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Broken bodies were flung about the APC.

Some of the men were still alive; she could hear their ragged breathing, but she couldn't tell which ones by looking. So much death! she thought. She stepped gingerly over the bodies, wishing her touch could heal.

"Madame ..." It was Lieutenant Varrick, still at his command. "Madame... I've got to get you safe ..." His voice trailed off.

She stepped over to his side, stroked his fore- head, smearing her hand with his blood. "I'm safe," she lied, not knowing why. "Good work, Lieutenant."

"Safe .. .Verwill..."

"I'm safe, Lieutenant. Damien will know."

Lieutenant Varrick closed his eyes. Jessine didn't know if he'd believed her.

She certainly knew better. Varrick's - or Ver's - plan had failed. She needed a new one, now.

Most of the port side of the ship had been blasted away, giving plenty of room for Jessine to escape, but she hesitated. The battle was still going on and she could see that the whole of the Secretary's Palace was in an uproar. She needed to make herself less obvious if she were to have a chance of getting away.

One of the dead soldiers had a long, loose field-poncho over his uniform, a garment of

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steelcloth, of a color so neutral that it made its wearer hard to see. Reaching down, she pulled and tugged at the field-poncho, trying to get it off the body. The task was more difficult than she had thought it would be. But the continuing sound of gunfire and explosions kept her at it until she felt the corpse release the garment

Another clatter of gunfire sounded just out- side the crashed ship, and Jessine froze for an instant. With shaking hands she shrugged out of her designer anorak and slipped on the poncho, hating the smell of death that dung to it. Bend- ing down, she dipped her hand into the dead soldier s clotting blood. She rubbed her arm with it and smeared a little along her cheekbone.

Then she pulled the little Ridly 20-44 from the soldier's holster and checked the magazine.

Bracing herself, she rifled her dead soldier and his companions for spare magazines. Finding four, she tucked them into her belt and lowered the field-poncho over it The gun she kept in her hand- In the far side of the quadrangle a gaggle of Emergency Service personnel were starting to run toward the wrecked ship, a few carrying life-paks, the others with guns. Gunfire sent up little sprays of paving and dust around them as they ran.

Emerging from the ship, Jessine stumbled

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deliberately in order to enhance the illusion she was wounded. She started toward the central pylon of the Secretary's Palace, the field-poncho flapping as she ran- As she had hoped, no one paid much attention to her.

There should have been an automatic walk- way running through the central garden, but it was stopped. Most of the plants had been blasted or trampled and of the three ornamental fountains, only one had atrickle of water coming from its decapitated Nike.