Throne of Stars (98 page)

If the defenders already in the Palace couldn’t stop these lunatics, then it was highly unlikely that anyone else on the planet would be willing to help him retake it afterward.

He looked at a side monitor, showing a fresh broadcast from Prince Jackson, and bared his teeth in a cynical, mirthless smile. The viewing public had no way of knowing that the bustling command post behind Adoula did not exist outside one of the most sophisticated VR software packages in existence. By now, Adoula was actually aboard the
Hannah P. McAllister
, an apparently down-at-the-heels tramp freighter in orbit around the planet. His public statements were recorded aboard the ship, beamed down to a secure ground station, plugged into the VR software, and then rebroadcast through the public information channels with real-time images from the Palace inserted. The illusion that Adoula was actually still in the city—or, at least, near at hand—was seamless and perfect.

And if things continued to to go to hell in a handbasket the way they were, it was about time Gianetto started considering implementing his own bug-out strategy.

“Christ, the cavalry at last,” Marinau said as the first shuttle landed in the courtyard. He and what was left of his teams and the Mardukans had held the North Courtyard over twice as long as the ops plan had specified. They’d paid cash for it, too. But at least the bogus Empress’ Own’s armored reaction squad had gone in pursuit of Roger, thank God! And thank God the so-called troops Adoula had found as replacements weren’t real combat troops. If they had been, there would have been
no one
left to greet the incoming shuttle.

It came under heavy fire, but from small arms and armor-portable cannon only. The heavy antiair/antispace emplacements had all been knocked out, and the shuttle was giving as good as it got. It laid down a hail of heavy plasma blasts on the positions which had the attackers pinned down, and as big—
huge—
armored Mardukans piled out of the hatches, more fire came from the sky, dropping across the positions of the mercenaries still holding the Palace.

“No,” Kuddusi said, raising up to fire a stream of beads at the defensive positions. “The cavalry went in
first
.”

“Let’s move,” Marinau said. “Punch left.”

“Where are we going?” Penalosa asked as Roger led them down an apparently deserted corridor.

“To here.” Roger stopped by an ancient picture of a group of men chasing foxes. He lifted an ornamental candlestick out of a sconce, and a door opened in the wall.

“This is a shortcut to Mother’s room,” he said.

“Then why in hell didn’t we use it
before
?” Penalosa demanded.

“Because,” Roger thumbed a sensor ball and tossed it into the passageway, “I’m pretty sure Adoula knows about it.”

“Holy . . .” Penalosa muttered, blanching behind her armored visor as the sensor ball’s findings were relayed to her HUD. There were more than a dozen defense-points in the short corridor. Even as she watched, one of them destroyed the sensor ball.

“Yep,” Roger agreed, “and they’re on Adoula’s IFF.” He keyed his communicator. “Jin, you getting anywhere?”

“Negative, Your Highness,” Jin admitted. “I’ve been trying to crack Adoula’s defensive net, but it’s heavily encrypted. He’s using a two-thousand-bit—”

“You know I don’t go for the technical gobbledygook,” Roger said. “A simple ‘no’ would suffice. You see what we see?”

“Yes, Sir,” Jin said, looking at the relayed readouts.

“Suggestions?”

“Find another route?”

“There aren’t any,” Roger muttered, and switched frequencies. “God damn it.” He hefted the replacement plasma cannon he’d picked up and tossed it to Penalosa. “If this doesn’t work, get to Mother. Somehow,” he added, and drew both pistols.

“
No!
” Penalosa dropped the cannon and grabbed vainly for the prince as he leapt into the corridor.

“That’s it,” Gianetto said. “I won’t say it’s all over but the shouting, but there are insertion teams deep into the Palace, they’ve secured an LZ inside the inner parameter, and they’re lifting in additional troops. CarRon 14’s moving, and so are Prokourov and La Paz. Unfortunately, I don’t have a single goddamned idea what Prokourov is going to do when he gets here, and he’s going to get here well before CarRon 13. The ground units here planet-side are either refusing to move at all, or else fighting internally about whose orders to take, and the commanders loyal to
us
don’t seem to be winning. That means Gajelis is the closest available relief—with the head start he got, he’s going to be here about twenty minutes before CarRon 12, even if Prokorouv’s feeling loyal to us. And it’s still going to take Gajelis another three hours-plus to get here. We may still be able to turn this thing around—or at least decapitate the opposition—if we can get control of the orbitals, but in the meantime, we’re royally screwed dirtside. It’s time to leave, Your Highness.”

“I cannot
believe
that little shit could put something like this together!” Adoula snarled.

“It doesn’t matter whether it was him, or someone else. Or even whether or not he’s really still alive,” Gianetto pointed out. “What matters is that the shit has well and truly hit the fan. I’ll be issuing the official dispersal order in ten minutes.”

“Understood,” Adoula replied, and looked at his loyal chauffeur once again. “Duauf, go inform the captain that we’ll be leaving shortly.”

“At once, Your Highness,” the chauffeur murmured, and Adoula nodded. It was so good to have at least
one
competent subordinate, he reflected. Then he pursed his lips in irritation as another thought occurred to him. One more thing to take care of, he thought irritatedly. Loose ends everywhere.

“We’re holding the inner perimeter, Your Highness,” “Major” Khalid said. “But we’ve lost the stingship squadron, and they’re shuttling in reinforcements. They’ve got us cut off from the main Palace, and so far, they’ve thrown back every try to break out we’ve made. We need support, Sir. Soon.”

“It looks bad,” Adoula said, his face serious. “But the Navy units I control are on the way. They’ve got enough firepower to get you out of there. But given how complicated and fluid the situation is, I’m afraid these rebels may get their hands on the Empress and the replicator, and we can’t have that. Kill the Empress at once. Dump the replicator.”

“Yes, Sir,” Khalid said, but he also frowned. “What about us?”

“As soon as the Navy gets there, they’ll land shuttles to pull you out,” Adoula said. “I can’t afford to lose you, Khalid. We’ve got too much more work to do. Kill the Empress now, then all you have to do is hold out for—” The prince ostentatiously considered his toot. “Hold for another forty minutes,” he said. “Can you do that?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the “major” said, squaring his shoulders. “I’m glad you haven’t forgotten us.”

“Of course not,” Adoula said, and cut the circuit. He looked into the dead display for an instant. “Most definitely not,” he said softly.

The defensive systems in the secret passage, light and heavy plasma and bead cannon, were momentarily confused. The figure was giving off the IFF of the local defenders, as last updated. In automatic mode, that didn’t matter—not here, in
this
corridor. But the intruder had paused outside the systems’ area of immediate responsibility, where matters were a little ambiguous. Did its mere presence in the corridor’s entrance represent an unauthorized incursion? If not, its IFF meant it was not a legitimate target, but if it
was
an incursion . . .

The systems’ computers were still trying to decide when beads started cracking down-range, destroying the first two emplacements. At which point, they made up their collective electronic minds and opened fire.

Roger considered it just another test.

Over the last year the Playboy Prince who’d set out so unwillingly for Leviathan had learned that life put obstacles in one’s path, and one either went around them, if possible . . . or
through
them, if necessary. This fell under the category of “necessary,” and there weren’t enough bodies left to just throw them in and soak up the losses to take out the emplacements. More than that, he’d proven himself to be better at fast, close combat than any of the rest of the team. Ergo, this was one of those times when he
had
to put himself in jeopardy.

He’d killed three of the defensive weapons before they were all up and tracking on him. He killed a fourth, concentrating on the eight heavy emplacements, before the first stream of beads hit him. They knocked him backward, but couldn’t penetrate the ChromSten armor. He got that bead cannon, and then a plasma gun gushed at his feet. He’d seen it tracking, and jumped, getting it while he was in the air. But when he came down, he stumbled, trying to avoid another stream of plasma, and fell to the side. He got the fifth emplacement before the first Raider could make it through the door.

Funny. He’d thought you were supposed to get cold at the time like this. But he was hot. Terribly hot.

“This really sucks,” Despreaux said, coughing on smoke.

The wall, floor—whatever—of Siminov’s office was too hot to touch now. So they’d climbed onto the edge of the desk, dragging Trey and the semiconscious Siminov with them. Some of the smoke came from the lower edge of the desk, which was beginning to smolder. When that caught fire, as it was bound to eventually, they were all going to be in rather desperate straits.

Despreaux happened to be the one looking at the door when the hand appeared.

It fumbled for a grip, and she raised her pistol before she noticed that the hand was both very large and covered in an environment suit glove.

“Hold fire!” she barked as Krindi chinned himself up over the edge of the door frame.

“So,
there
you are,” the Diaspran said, showing his teeth in a Mardukan-style pseudosmile behind his mask. “We’ve been looking all
over
for you.”

“What took you so long?” Pedi asked angrily.

“I figured there was time,” Krindi said, dragging himself fully through the doorway. “You were born to hang.”

“Roger, just lie still!” Penalosa was saying.

“Hell with that.” Roger got to his feet—or tried to. His lower left leg felt strangely numb, but he got got as far as his right knee, then pushed himself upright.

And promptly toppled over sideways again.

“Oh,” he said, looking at the left leg which had refused to support him. Not surprisingly, perhaps, since it was pretty much gone just below the knee. “Now, that’s a hell of a thing. Good nannies, though. I don’t feel a thing.”

“Just stay down!” Penalosa said sharply.

“No.” Roger got up again, more cautiously. He looked around and picked up a bead cannon from a suit of armor with a large, smoking hole through its breastplate. “Let’s go.”

“God
damn it
, Your Highness!”

“Just a thing, Master Sergeant,” Roger said. “Just a thing. Can I have an arm, though?”

“We’ve got the corridor suppressed,” Penalosa said as the two damaged suits of armor limped slowly and painfully down the narrow passageway.

“I noticed,” Roger said, when they came to the end. It was another ChromSten door.

“But there’s this,” Penalosa said. “And not only are we about out of plasma cannon, but these are awful tight quarters for trying your little trick. Not to mention that . . . nobody’s too happy about trying it again, anyway.”

“Nobody” being Penalosa herself and one of the Mardukans, since the other two suits had bought it destroying the last two installations after Roger had gotten the first six.

“Yes, understandable,” Roger said. “But unlike the last door, Master Sergeant, this one is
original
installation.” He bared his teeth behind his visor. “Open Sesame,” he said.

And the door opened upwards.

“Attention all vessels in planetary orbit! This is Terran Defense HQ! Hostile naval units are approaching Old Earth, ETA approximately eleven-thirty-seven hours Capital Time. All civilian traffic is immediately directed and ordered to clear planetary orbit at once. Repeat, all civilian traffic is immediately directed and ordered to clear planetary orbit at once. Be advised that heavy fire is to be anticipated and that any vessel in a position to pose a threat to Imperial City will be deemed hostile and treated accordingly. Repeat, all civilian traffic is immediately directed and ordered to clear planetary orbit at once, by order of Terran Defense HQ!”

“Well, about damned time,” Captain Kjerulf muttered as the grim-faced rear admiral on the display screen spoke. The recorded message began to replay, and he turned back to the thousand and one details demanding his attention with a sense of profound relief. He’d been more than a little concerned about the collateral damage which would almost inevitably occur when a full-scale naval engagement walked across the orbital patterns of the teeming commerce which always surrounded Old Earth. At least he didn’t have to worry about
that
anymore.

“And it’s about time,” Prince Jackson Adoula muttered as
Hannah P. McAllister
made haste to obey the nondiscretionary order. There were, quite literally, hundreds of vessels in Old Earth orbit; now they scattered, like shoals of mackerel before the slashing attack of a pod of porpoises. Adoula’s vessel was only one more insignificant blip amid the confusion of that sudden exodus, with absolutely nothing to distinguish her from any of the others.

Aside from the fact—not yet especially evident—that
her
course would eventually carry her to
meet
CarRon 14 well short of the planet.

Getting to Siminov’s office door was the biggest trick, since the floor was too hot to cross without third-degree burns. Fortunately, Krindi could walk on it in his environment suit, and he could lower them to Erkum, who was standing in a more or less fire-free spot on the ground floor. The gigantic noncom’s height, coupled with the fact that the office had dropped most of the way through the second floor, made it a relatively easy stretch from that point.

Krindi got all of them out and down just before the last supports gave way and the armored room collapsed crashingly into the building’s basement.