The old man frowned. ''Then I may have to walk into a door and give myself cuts and bruises I can show off.''
''We could hit you carefully.''
''It would not be good for Cara to see you do that. No, you take the keys and go. I think Mong across the street can give me the wounds I need to show if things go as you say they could.''
And so it was that Bruce bounced his way out of Five Corners with a lot less horsepower than he gunned his way in.
48
Kris listened to the latest report from Gramma Ruth, her gut going cold, her game face sliding into place.
''Cara has a flesh wound, but she was definitely targeted for something worse, kidnapping or death,'' Commander Tordon finished.
''No shots have been fired here, yet,'' Kris reported.
''It looks like it's only a matter of time,'' Jack said.
''But it's a very important matter,'' Kris answered back. ''Let's assume we're only minutes away, team. Keep a lookout for guns. If you see one, shoot. Take a prisoner we can talk to if you can, but take no risks otherwise.''
The net absorbed her orders in total silence.
Kris turned to Penny. ''You're in command of this hall. Try to hold casualties to as few as possible, Marines and civilians. If you can, be close to Senator Chisel when all hell breaks loose. It would be nice if she survived the night. Good luck.''
The intel woman took the orders and best wishes with a slight roll of her eyes.
Now Kris turned to the woman Marine at her elbow. She was about Kris's height and her dress was the same cut only black. ''I've had it with waiting for something to happen. You ready to switch places with me?''
The woman stepped sideways and Kris passed before her, half hidden by the circle of Marines around them. Suddenly the Marine's dress was red. Kris's was black. The Marine was a blonde; Kris was a brunette.
Kris took Jack's arm, and a Marine corporal stepped into place at Penny's elbow.
For a moment, the circle seemed no different, then Jack and Kris took a step back and quickly disappeared into a room off the hall. As they did, the circle of Marines slowly moseyed down toward the central dome.
Once on their own, Kris and Jack ambled among the art, talking about how good it was to get relieved for a bit and what art they really wanted to take a look at once they got a breath of fresh air. Before too long, a pair of Marines fell in a comfortable distance behind them.
As security, even in their red and blues, they passed unnoticed, as important people talked to each other, or very important people talked, trailed by their security details.
And Kris did her numbers.
The reception line had been a real herd event, say four hundred going or receiving. Say some thousand important people around to see and be seen. Add to that three, maybe four thousand security people or waiters or whomever.
Call it maybe five thousand upstairs and downstairs.
Kris eyed the security folks. And found them strangely uncomfortable tonight. How many of them were in on this? How many of their patrons were not? How many of the owners of these security details would find out later tonight that, like Gramma Ruth, they had not bought loyalty?
Everything was wrong with this picture.
Kris's history professor had once mentioned that civil wars were some of the bloodiest. This looked like it might set a new record if it wasn't over in a night.
That probably was the plan.
But then, what plan survived contact with the opposition?
Kris found herself on the west balcony, overlooking the car park. Her limo stood out like a dinosaur among whales. She counted the number of Marines around them and came up with less than a third of those assigned. Good.
She glanced around the other cars. Most had only a driver with them. Some had a shotgun.
Kris turned and leaned against the marble balustrade. She looked up and remarked to Jack how lovely the stars were.
What she actually looked at were the auto-guns. She counted nine of them visible. There were likely another nine hidden, if she was any gauge of a defense. And she had defended a space station or two in her brief career. Well, defended one, attacked the other. She'd expect at least as many guns in plain sight as were hidden away as spares.
Whose side would the auto-guns be on? At the beginning? Middle? End of the firefight?
She would have some say in that. Or die trying.
Kris ambled in. Outside, in the shadows, Jack's uniform had undergone a change. His red coat was now black; his blue pants had taken on the same color. The distantly trailing pair of Marines now looked identical to Jack. Kris took in some art, and watched some more important people ignore their security as if they weren't there.
She leaned against the doors to the stairs. Jack said something and Kris laughed, leaning back, cracking the doors open just a bit.
Just enough for a fleet of Nelly's nanos to get in.
Before long, she ended up on the back balcony, staring at the river. The moonlight rippled off it. A perfect moment for lovers.
But Kris chose to glance up at the roof line and see the auto-guns. Those had to be stopped from mowing down her Marines.
NELLY, HOW'S IT GOING?
THE CAMERAS IN THE STAIRWELL ARE READY TO LOOP, AND THE SCOUTS HAVE HERDED THE NANOS DOWN TO THE BOTTOM FLOOR OR BASEMENT.
''Let's go, crew,'' Kris said with a tight smile and headed indoors. To work, perchance to live.
Once in the stairwell, Kris hardly slowed down. Nelly reported the cameras in a sixty-second loop. Physical security for the upper floors consisted of a mere gate that her Marines ducked under.
Jack handed her over it very gallantly.
They had to take Nelly's word for it that the observation nanos had been herded out of their way.
If an observant human spotted this concentration of nanos, an alarm would go off—but none did.
Neither did a guard look in on them as they climbed past the fourth floor.
On the fifth floor, there was an actually locked door keeping them from the roof level. Jack made short work of it, and they kept going.
In an area clearly intended only for working stiffs, they came to the end of their climb. Gray paint replaced the soft beige walls. Pipes were painted identifying primary colors.
At the roof level were two doors. One looked to open onto the actual roof. Kris turned the other way and led her team into a gray, shadowed corridor.
Drawing her automatic, Kris clicked it to sleepy darts.
Ahead, the first three offices were dark. Empty.
Farther down, light shown from one, its door closing even as they came in view of it.
Somewhere in the building, a single shot rang out.
It was quickly answered by weapons on full automatic.
49
Gunny Sergeant Brown heard the first shot and shouted, ''Down.'' His Marines obeyed in record time.
Most of the civilian drivers stood up taller to get a better look at whatever was going on. Several drivers in their armored limos actually got out so they could gawk.
One saw Gunny on the ground behind the huge limo and sneered.
His sneer lasted for about fifteen seconds as the sound of automatic weapons filled the night air.
Then the auto-guns on the roof cut loose.
Gunny did not look, but from the sound of things, the guns cycled from target to target, sending a short five-round burst into every human in range.
At least, that's what the sneering guy's body absorbed. Five rounds of 20-mm general purpose.
Not much of the sneer survived him taking one round to the head.
Gunny remembered why light infantry loved the earth and hugged her well.
He checked his own Marines. They were doing their earth-hugging best to stay low. As he expected, Private Haskell managed to take a fragment. In the butt, no less.
He was screaming like he'd been filleted from nap to chap. Making more racket than any of the civilians. But then, none of the civilians were making any noise at all.