Erik wondered how Elsa was doing. He hoped she could take care of herself, and if not, Lieutenant Clayhatchee could take care of both of them.
“Kinston,” he called to anyone who would listen. “I’m looking for Ozark Kinston.”
“Here,” he finally heard a voice say. “I’m here.”
He found Kinston in one of the side rooms, sitting on a folding cot. He was dirty, and had a bloody handkerchief wrapped around one hand, but otherwise looked in good health. He looked up at Erik, his eyes like those of a whipped dog. “What’s happening?”
Erik stood over him, arms crossed. “My guess is that House Liao has come to pay its respects to Shensi.” He held out the envelope. “It seems to me that an alliance with Duke Sandoval would be a good thing right about now.”
Kinston shook his head. “I know, I know. I did my best, Commander. A few more weeks and I might have had them.”
“Not in a few weeks,” he said. “Now. We’re going to sign an accord now.”
Kinston’s eyes widened. He wiped his face with the flats of his hands. “What?”
“We’re going to go get this accord signed by the Governor and the Legate. The original, not that other piece of crap you tried to pass off on me.”
“Yes,” he stammered, “of course, they’d sign it now.”
“Then let’s go find them.”
Kinston looked pale. Despite the cool of the subbasement, he was sweating profusely. “Find them? Us?”
“Us. You and me. Come on.”
“Us? No. No, I can’t.”
“Look, Kinston. The Governor and the Legate have probably gone to ground. I’m betting there are shelters under the Capitol Building, catacombs, and that you know how to find them.”
Kinston blinked; thinking seeming to take enormous effort. “Yes, I suppose I know the way in. I saw the Situation Room once. The Legate might be there. But I can’t—”
“You can, Kinston. I can’t find them alone.”
Kinston looked like he was about to burst into tears, but he slowly pulled himself to his feet.
Erik handed him the envelope, and he clutched it, almost gratefully. Then Erik took him by the arm and led him out into the hall. “Which way?”
Kinston looked confused. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, Kinston. There are tunnels running from this building to the Capitol Building, aren’t there? Can we get there without going up to street level?”
Kinston nodded. “Yes. There’s a tram. A subway. This way.” He pointed back toward the middle of the building.
With Erik urging Kinston along, the two of them reached the door to another stairwell, which they took down two more flights. They emerged at a tram station.
Surprisingly, the lights were on here. Perhaps the subway had its own power source, or was powered from the Capitol Building end. They stood on a long platform tiled in white marble, the roof supported by Greek columns. Large potted plants spaced regularly along the platform helped mute the cold sterility of the place.
There were two tracks running through the center of the platform. The side they were on seemed to be for departing cars, the other for arriving cars. The two sides of the platform were connected by a short tunnel running under the tracks. A line of small, open-sided cars, each with ten or so seats, sat lined up at the platform.
“They’re not running,” said Erik. “Is there a pedestrian tunnel?”
“No,” said Kinston, pointing. “See those lights. They have power. They’re like elevators. You just get on and push a button.”
“Show me.”
They climbed into the front row of seats in a little car. In front of each seat was a single button. Kinston pushed his, and it lit up green. “Push yours,” he said.
Erik pushed his button, and it turned green as well.
“This car is now departing for the Capitol Building complex,” said a recorded voice. “Please hold on to a post or handrail. Keep your head and hands within the vehicle at all times.”
Erik couldn’t help a slight grin. These recordings were the same, no matter what planet you were on.
The car accelerated smoothly out of the station with only a slight whine. Almost immediately, the track curved thirty or so degrees to the right. Once it was straight again, the car began to speed up.
The tunnel was well lit. Maintenance catwalks ran along either side, and periodically there were metal doors leading to some unknown destination—possibly a machinery room, or even a manhole to the surface.
The tunnel jogged slightly to the left, and suddenly they were plunged into darkness.
“Uh-oh,” said Kinston.
“This isn’t supposed to happen?”
“No.”
“We’re still moving. Maybe it’s just the lights that have failed.”
There were occasional emergency lights still working. Erik could see fresh cracks in the concrete walls. Broken pipes leaked water and foul-smelling fluids. Erik hoped the city didn’t have gas mains down here as well.
He squinted into the darkness ahead. He thought he saw something.
Erik yelled something guttural—not a word, just a sound—as he shoved Kinston out of the moving tram and went tumbling after him. They hit sand. Erik rolled, coming up on his feet just in time to see the tram smash into the stalled car ahead of it.
There was a crash, a shower of sparks that illuminated the collapsed section of tunnel roof, and then they were plunged back into gloom. He looked over, and could just make out Kinston, on his face on the ground, trying to get to his feet.
Something in the wrecked tram burst into flame, and it was suddenly much less gloomy.
Erik picked up the fallen envelope, brushed it off, and helped Kinston to his feet. “The whole tunnel isn’t blocked,” said Erik. “We can get around the wreck.”
Fortunately, they were almost to the Capitol. Only fifty meters past the collapse, Erik spotted the lights of the station ahead. Erik climbed onto the deserted platform, and pulled Kinston up after him.
Erik could smell smoke. A large concrete beam had collapsed at the end of the platform. “Where now? How do we get into the shelters?”
“I don’t know from here. I only know from above. We’ll have to get up to the building, then back down.”
Erik remembered the collapsed domes he’d seen from the street. “Not an option. You sure you don’t know how to get there from here?”
Kinston stared at him blankly.
“Okay, what levels are they on? Up or down?”
“I don’t know. I took an elevator. Down, I’d think.”
Erik nodded. “Makes sense. They’d bury it very deep.”
They exited the station into a wide, subterranean concourse. A few people huddled in doorways along the side, but it was largely deserted. Erik scanned every door and side corridor, looking for some sign. Finally, he spotted an unmarked door with an armored guard window next to it. The guard station was empty. The door, fortunately, had been blocked open with a chair.
Erik looked inside. Another stairwell, leading down. The walls were heavily reinforced, and there was no visible damage. “This looks good.”
They climbed down the stairs: two flights, three, four. There were no exit doors. Finally they reached the bottom of the shaft, and an enormous vaultlike blast door. Again, it was unguarded, and open just far enough for a person to slip through. Erik shook his head. “You people really have a thing or two to learn about security.”
He squeezed through, and Kinston followed. The tunnel beyond was narrow and lined with pipes and conduits of all kinds. They’d traveled a dozen yards when a voice addressed them.
“Halt!”
Somebody slipped out a side passage and Erik felt the barrel of a rifle pushed against the small of his back. Erik slowly put up his hands and turned to see who was confronting them. He found himself looking into the frightened eyes of a young private, whose finger seemed to spasm in the trigger guard of his automatic rifle. “Aren’t you supposed to say, ‘Who goes there?’”