The Sandovals didn’t even trust each other. There was certainly no reason to trust an outsider, a spy, a Cappie.
Part of him wanted to stay in the trap, to let the accord run its long and unnatural course, while he spent his nights in Elsa’s arms. But it would only be prolonging the agony.
He was trying to think of something to say, when there was a rumble like thunder, and the room trembled. They both looked around.
Elsa looked at him. “What was that?”
Another rumble, louder this time. Then another sound—a siren of some sort. Though he’d never heard it, he thought he knew what it was. He grabbed Elsa by the hand and pulled her up and out of the room. “We have to get somewhere safe.”
The main dining room was in chaos—people scrambling out the door without paying, the staff in confusion. Through the row of windows across the front they could see people running down the street in both directions.
“I don’t understand,” said Elsa. “What’s happening?”
There was a flash in the sky outside, followed moments later by the sound of an explosion.
“My God,” she said. “It can’t be.”
He looked at her. “The Cappies really didn’t tell you, did they? Didn’t warn you?”
She shook her head.
“War,” he said, “has come to Shensi.” Another explosion, and the floor shook. “These are the people you’re working for,” he said.
She seemed genuinely surprised. He felt sorry for her.
A louder explosion, frighteningly close. Then the whole front of the restaurant seemed to light up, and the noise hit them like an invisible hammer, as every window in the building shattered.
10
CONTROLLER: Attention, unauthorized spacecraft: You have entered the Shensi atmosphere without clearance. You are not cleared to enter the Whitehorse-controlled air zone.
[Static]
CONTROLLER: Unidentified spacecraft, you are ordered to turn right on a heading of one-eighty degrees and proceed to the Chung Military Airfield, where you will land and surrender yourself. If you do not turn, air defenses have been activated, and use of deadly force is authorized. [Unintelligible] I don’t think they’re listening! Do those missile batteries still work?
La Cuisine Traditionnelle
Whitehorse, Shensi
Prefecture V, The Republic
21 November 3134
Erik peered out from behind the table he’d overturned as a shield. Through the broken windows he could see people screaming, running—some of them covered with blood. He knelt down to check on Elsa, who cowered next to him—scratches on her face, a cut on her right cheek. “Are you all right?”
She stared at him for a moment, eyes wide, as though he were speaking some alien language. Then it finally seemed to register. “I’m fine.” She laughed nervously, almost hysterically. “No, I’m not fine. But I don’t think I’m hurt.” She brushed the hair out of her face, and was shocked to see blood on her hand.
He took her hand in his. “It’s just a scratch. Listen to me. Listen carefully. Unless you seriously believe your friends know not to drop a missile on your head, you have to get off-planet. Now. There will be a rush on the spaceport as foreigners try to leave, but you can find passage on a ship before it’s too late.”
“What? Why? My apartment—”
“Forget it. If things calm down you can send for your things. Don’t even go back there unless you have some cash hidden—and I think you might. If you’re really a spy, you’ll have a bug-out kit with money and travel papers stashed somewhere. But I’m not sure you’re that much of a pro. Just go. This planet isn’t safe anymore.”
She clutched at him. “Come with me!”
He looked off in the direction of the Capitol Building, already planning. “I can’t. Wait here.”
He scrambled back to their table and dug through the mess of broken dishes and fallen ceiling tiles to find the envelope that Kinston had given him. He duck-walked back to where Elsa was hiding.
“Erik, where are you going?”
“There may still be something to salvage here. I’m going to try, anyway.” He looked at her. “You can tell that to your employers if you talk to them again.”
She looked hurt. He wanted to take back the words, but it was too late.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry it has to be this way. Maybe this just wasn’t meant to be.”
More explosions, distant, possibly from across town. The lights flickered and went out. “Come on.”
He grabbed her arm, half guiding, half dragging her out of the building. They ran down the street—Erik on the outside, pushing her close to the buildings.
Aerospace fighters flashed overhead, and he saw missile tracks scribbled across the sky. They crossed a street, and he got a clear look at the Capitol Building, the three domes over the rotunda burning and half-collapsed.
An unfamiliar car, dodging rubble in the street, screeched to a halt in front of them, one wheel up on the curb. The door opened. Lieutenant Clayhatchee was driving.
“Commander! Get in! Your driver ran off when the bombing started, but I knew you’d be here.”
“Where did you get the car?”
He grinned and held up his side arm. “I charged it to diplomatic immunity, sir!”
“Good work, Lieutenant. There’s a medal in this if I have anything to do with it!” He pushed Elsa into the car, but didn’t follow her.
Clayhatchee was confused. “Sir, aren’t you coming?”
Elsa stared at him. “Erik!”
He leaned in and kissed her hard.
“Get her to the spaceport, and on some kind of transport off-planet. Get yourself on one, too, if you can. Head back to my uncle, and tell him what’s happened here.” He paused. “Tell him”—he held up the envelope—“that I carried the mission to its logical conclusion.”
Clayhatchee hesitated. “That’s an order, Lieutenant!”
“Yes, sir!” He saluted sharply, then backed the car off the curb, and zoomed away down the street.
Erik looked around. He could just see the roof of the Hereditary House a block over. He had no way of knowing if Kinston was still there, but he needed a guide. He ran toward the building.
He found the entrance unguarded, and a few frightened people cowering in the lobby. Where was everyone? In the catacombs, undoubtedly. But where? Probably these people were outsiders, too. If they knew, they’d already be down there.
He tried to remember the stairs leading into the basement at Senator Prescott’s house. There had been a symbol on the wall. At the time, he’d thought it was just a decoration. It had been a chevron over a triangle of small dots. But the chevron might represent a roof, and the three dots might represent people. Shelter!
He headed for the building’s core, where an entrance to the shelter might more logically be located. It took him five minutes before he spotted the symbol next to an arrow pointing down a dead-end hall. At the end was an unassuming door next to a janitor’s closet. The door had the same symbol on it. He turned the knob. By the reddish glow of emergency lighting, he could just make out a stairway leading down. He could hear people below.
He climbed carefully down the stairs. Somebody pointed a flashlight up into his face. He shielded his eyes. “I’m looking for Ozark Kinston. Do you know him?”
Silence.
“He was at Senator Prescott’s office when the attack came.”
“I saw—” A woman’s quavering voice came from behind the flashlight. “I saw some of the staff head down that way.” The beam pointed back toward the rear of the building. “Maybe he’s down there.”
Erik made himself smile. “Thank you.”
He pushed on to a central corridor, surrounded by rooms—most with doors open. He glanced in, and by the dim red emergency lights he could see people in almost every room—some waiting quietly, some talking, or sobbing, or huddled together for comfort. With each distant explosion they would tense and pull together.