Rain beats down steadily. Ceison empties his pipe, shifts it to a pocket.
—I want a camera crew with me at all times. I want us to be able to give the video news proof that the Barkazil Division and I are a part of this.
—Yes, miss.
—I will arrange to be here, in person, first shift tomorrow.
—Very good, miss.
—I want you to paint a new name on the side of the vehicle that I am to use. It will be called the Golden Lady. Understood?
Ceison’s eyes widen in surprise. The existence of the Golden Lady has not, it appears, entirely escaped his attention.
—I want you to see if you can find an artist, Aiah continues, who can paint a golden lady on the vehicle. Large as you can.
With an act of will she causes her anima to fluoresce, and Ceison shields his eyes against her brightness.
—This is what I want you to paint. Do you understand?
—Yes, miss.
Aiah permits the image to fade. Ceison lowers his hand and blinks his dazzled eyes.
Aiah’s ectomorphic sensorium observes Ceison, standing in the pouring rain with water sluicing off his hood and cape.
—Better get inside, she sends. We can’t afford to have you down with pneumonia at a time like this. Ceison smiles.
—Thank you, miss. I will see you first shift.
Aiah touches the off button and feels Lanbola fade from her vision. Plasm sings a song of triumph in her ears.
The Golden Lady will do her part to end the terror, she thinks. And she will be seen to do her part.
COMMERCE COUNCIL PROTESTS CAMPAIGN OF PURIFICATION
“UNREST BAD FOR BUSINESS,” SPOKESMAN SAYS
RELAYS COMPLAINTS OF EXTORTION
PARQ DENOUNCES “BANKERS AND BLOODSUCKERS”
Her pilot takes Aiah to Lanbola through a lightning storm, the aerocar flying through great flashing sheets of electric fire that turn everyone in the cabin into pale, glittering-eyed ghosts. Green voltaic flame streams from the car’s stubby wings as it descends, and dances like a thing alive along the instrument panel.
The aerocar touches down on the landing pad, and the pilot pulls his headset off. His forehead is beaded with sweat. “I don’t want to do that ever again,” he says.
Aiah looks at him. Her mind was fully occupied during the flight; she had appreciated the spectacle, but her thoughts were elsewhere. “Were we in danger?” she asks.
“I would not have wanted to short out our instruments,” the pilot breathes.
“Glad we didn’t.” Her mind is already on other things.
She steps from the aerocar into pelting rain and blazing video light: the camera crews she’d requested are here to record her arrival. Her guards are prepared for combat, wearing bulky bulletproofs and carrying weapons openly; and Aiah herself is dressed practically, in boots, pants, and waterproof jacket.
Ceison offers her an umbrella and salutes. “Everything’s ready, miss,” he says.
“Thank you. Let’s get out of the rain.”
Armored vehicles jockey for place in the huge nearby garage, filling the air with unburnt hydrocarbons. The carrier Golden Lady is decorated impressively, with a fierce, fiery woman, hair ablaze, pointing ahead to victory with a commanding expression on her face. Aiah asks to meet the artist, and compliments him. “Can you paint me another copy of this?” she asks. “Put it on cardboard or something, so I can have it in my apartment? I’ll pay you for your work.”
The artist is a young man, and blushes easily. “I’d be happy to, miss. And no need for payment.”
“Of course I’ll pay you. It’s not your regular job, is it?”
He colors gratefully and Aiah moves on, greeting as many of the soldiers as she can. When Ceison tells her it’s time to move, Aiah joins the Golden Lady, and the vehicle commander hands her a pair of headphones and shows her how to stand in the hatch. Her guards file into the interior. The camera crews keep Aiah in their sights as the Golden Lady jerks, belches fumes, and lurches for the exit on its six solid-steel wheels. Enjoying this, Aiah breaks into a grin, and forgets to adopt for the cameras the stern expression of the Golden Lady painted onto the side of her vehicle.
Outside the rain has ended, though water still pours from drain spouts and fills the gutters. Shieldlight is breaking through dark cloud, and the stormlights are flickering off. The vehicle lurches into a higher gear and Aiah lowers herself behind the armored hatch combing to cut the chilling wind.
The convoy picks up speed once it gets on the Sealine Highway and rolls across the Caraqui border at 06:10, receiving waves and salutes from puzzled soldiers guarding the customs stations. Columns begin to split from the main body, aiming for different objectives. Well before 06:30, Ceison reports to Aiah that the first objectives have been seized, and that complete surprise has been achieved.
In brilliant Shieldlight, at 06:45, Aiah’s column rolls to a halt in front of the district militia headquarters, and soldiers and camera teams spill out. Aiah’s guards tug at her trouser legs to bring her down out of the hatch and behind the vehicle’s armor, but she insists on remaining in plain view, where the cameras and population can see her.
There is no resistance, no bullets, no plasm blasts, and the soldiers occupy the building without so much as a protest from its puzzled sleep-shift occupants.
And, when the militia members begin turning up for work at 08:00, they are quietly arrested and disarmed. Seized militia records provide names and addresses of those not present, and army combat teams move to their apartments to confiscate any weaponry they may possess.
But by that point Aiah has shifted to a local plasm station, where her PED identification gains entrance and where she can commandeer an antenna, dive into the well, and provide magical support for her soldiers. Since, commanding a station, she has practically unlimited plasm at her disposal, she crafts a blazing golden anima to fly above the steets and soar to her soldiers’ aid.
At 08:00, while the Golden Lady cruises above the city, Constantine appears on radio and video to announce that he and the president-triumvir, Faltheg, have ordered the army to suppress disorder and to disarm and disperse the Dalavan Militia. The sumptuary laws are summarily repealed. The reconstituted police forces, now ready under Randay, the Minister of Public Security, will assume all responsibility for public order.
When she hears the news some hours later, Aiah reflects that she had almost forgotten about Randay and the restructured civilian police. She has her doubts about how much better the new police will prove than the old, but concludes they could hardly do worse than the militia.
Within another hour, the camera teams are delivering their raw video to broadcast stations, where the Golden Lady’s identity is revealed for the first time.
There is remarkably little violence. The Dalavan Militia is used to pushing around helpless civilians, is short of competent magical support, and has received very little training. Its few members who attempt resistance prove hopelessly naive about the amount of firepower that can be generated by a well-trained, well-equipped combat team, and are either immediately blown from existence or so intimidated by the formidable response that they immediately surrender.
By 12:00, the situation is well in hand, and Aiah leaves the plasm station and returns to the Aerial Palace. She will dismiss Togthan, fire every person he appointed, rehire the twisted people he had forced her to send away.
When she arrives, she discovers she is famous. Her image has been playing on the video for hours. Togthan accepts his dismissal stonily, and many of his hires have either left already or not bothered to report to work, saving her the bother of firing them.