"Gie us a reading, lass," Alex said to the young tech.
Naomi shook her head. "I don't have to look it up. Pooshkan is the premier university of the cluster. That's where all the top beings in the Altaics send their sons, daughters, chicks, and pups."
"Rich kids," Sten groaned. "Double wonderful." Then he shrugged. "Oh, well. Sounds like a local problem to me. The cops will handle it."
"Oh-oh," Kilgour said.
"What's with the oh-oh?" Sten hated to ask.
"Wish't an' y'll receive't," Alex said. "Th' wee pigs are comin' out. An' spritely."
Sten saw a phalanx of cops moving toward the main gate, complete with helmets, riot shields, electric prods, and—he saw a small track moving in—tear gas.
"Clot!" was all Sten said.
"An' here come the Lookie Lous," Kilgour said, pointing at crowds of adults gathering at the edge of the campus. Some were shouting at the cops. Some at the students. Some at one another. The onlookers were definitely segregated into tight knots of angry ethnics.
"Hell with it," Sten said. "Still a local problem. No way are we getting involved."
As he spoke, the com board lit up with incoming calls. Alex's people started fielding them. "... Imperial embassy. Yes, we've heard of the disturbance at the university. No, the ambassador has no comment... Imperial embassy... the Pooshkan riot? Yessir. No sir... Imperial embassy..."
Totally disgusted, Sten grabbed his scribblings and started for the door. "Don't call me unless it gets worse," he yelled over his shoulder. "In fact... don't even call me—"
"You best take this one, lad," Alex said, proffering a com set.
"Who is it?" Sten asked, almost snarling.
"A wee bairn frae Pooshkan," Alex said. "In fact, it's thae one." He pointed at a monitor screen, which showed a close-up of an imperious young Jochian. A handsome boy despite a tendency to lard about the jowls. Sten could see him talking into a com set that apparently was connected to the embassy board.
"Th' ringleader, methinks," Alex continued. "Milhouz i' th' name he gives."
Naomi whistled. "Student president," she said. "His parents are on the board of the Bank of Jochi.''
It dawned on Sten just how dicey this Pooshkan place was. A bloodied nose would be viewed as pure murder in some quarters.
"Yes, Sr. Milhouz," Sten said into the com unit, smooth as glass. "This is Ambassador Sten speaking. How may I help you?"
As he listened to the young voice jabbering away in his ear and saw the flushed, excited features on the monitor screen, Sten knew he would have to break the first rule he had set himself in Phase One of this operation. Which was: Do not leave the embassy. Make them come to you.
"You may expect us in a few minutes, young man," he said, and broke connection. As he turned back to the board, he saw that Cind had entered the room. From the look on her face, he could see she had a pretty good idea of what was going on.
One of the monitor screens showed students hurling a shower of debris at the cops.
"This damned thing could be the spark that sets off the big ka-bang," he told Cind. "So, here's the drill. I'll need about ten Gurkhas. Maybe fifty Bhor. But we want to go at this real low profile. Concealed weapons. No uniforms. We don't want to act like storm troopers."
"Pretty tall order for the Bhor," Cind said. "Especially Otho."
"If this works right," Sten said, "everybody will be so curious about Otho and the others, they'll be too busy gaping to cause trouble. Alex?"
"Ready ae you are, lad," Kilgour said.
"Okay, boys and girls," Sten said. "We're going back to school."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The day was bright and bitterly cold as Sten and his crew moved through the Square of the Khaqans. He gawked along with the others at the monuments towering over them. He felt like an insect marching through a land of giants.
"I keep waiting for one of them to step on me," Cind said, in an odd echo of his own thoughts.
"By my mother's long and knotty beard," Otho rumbled, "the man had ego enough for a fleet of us."
Otho lifted a hairy paw to shield his eyes from the glittering domes and brooded at a particularly awesome display of bad taste. It amounted to a platform resting on the shoulders of a dozen statues. The statues—easily twenty meters high—were of perfectly formed male and female humans, probably Jochians. They were stark naked. Posed on top of the platform was an idealized statue of the Khaqan swathed in golden robes. He held a torch aloft, complete with eternally licking flames.
"I could understand the man if he built drinking halls," Otho finally said. "It's much more useful to a boasting being. Besides, if you set a good table and are not stingy with the stregg, no one minds a braggart." He peered at Sten with his bloodshot eyes. "Not that I am one to follow this practice. I prefer my guests to extol my deeds."
Sten pointed at the legend inscribed in one corner of the display. It read: to he who lit the altaics with his glory. Under it, in smaller letters: From A Grateful People.
"Maybe he had a similar idea," Sten said. "Except he dispensed with the good times for one and all."
Otho's massive brow beetled at him. "This is why I said a drinking hall would make better sense. For a being who ruled so long, this Khaqan knew nothing of leadership."
Sten laughed agreement and motioned his group onward. He had decided it would be better to walk to Pooshkan University. It wasn't far from the embassy, and walking would certainly be lower profile than a phalanx of armored gravcars.
Besides, the first rule Sten had adopted as he learned the ropes of diplomacy was that it was important not to become isolated. He knew many ambassadors whose feet had never touched real ground. They were whisked from the steps of the embassy to state chambers to banquet and back again, for their entire tour of duty. He had also noted that their advice was invariably wrong.
In this case, he had found the scene on the street to be no different from what he had seen on the com room vid screens. Except, emptier. But the feel was different, there in the bright sunlight and sharp cold. His breath steamed. Shadowy figures ducked out of sight as his team tromped along, wary hands and paws near weapons belts.
Everywhere Sten looked there was a gigantic portrait or statue of the Khaqan, peering down on the mere mortals who must tread the avenues to their inconsequential appointments.
Especially unnerving was the low sound of thunder that rumbled continually behind the distant mountains. It definitely added an edge to one's mood.
Sten kept that in mind as he mentally prepared himself for young Milhouz and the other student agitators.
All those thoughts had vanished, however, when they entered the Square of the Khaqans. The sheer size of it would stagger any normal being's imagination. Just as the blinding colors fuddled the senses. It was a difficult place to get any kind of perspective. Turning away from a garish pillar, the eyes would clear, only to be confronted by a monument so large it made one dizzy.
Despite the sheer size of the square, Sten felt frighteningly closed in. With good reason. His professional eye noted that the square was built for maximum crowd control. Then he saw the Killing Wall. He didn't have to ask what it was as he looked over its black smoothness. A monument of hatred. Of power gone mad.
A sudden helplessness gripped him. He felt far too small for the task. His mind told him that was silly. The square had been designed to elicit exactly that response. Still, the feeling was difficult to shake.
At last they reached the far exit. Pooshkan University was just beyond. As Sten heard the low chanting of angry students, his mood instantly lifted and spring returned to his step. At least this was something he could confront. And maybe even solve.