Orno felt his heart sink as he stepped sideways to shield the Egg Orno’s body with his own. He should have known. It had been too easy to get his mate off Hive. The whole thing was part of a plot to lure him out of hiding so government agents could kill him! But what about the Egg Orno? Did the assassins have orders to terminate her, too? Or could he buy her life? Both of their lives? It was worth a try. “Please,” the ex-diplomat said imploringly.
“Don’t fi?re until you hear what I have to say. . . . I have information, extremely valuable information, that pertains to Marcott Nankool.”
The War Bamik had heard it all before. The extravagant lies, the heartfelt pleas, and the shameless attempts at bribery. Yet none of those strategies had been successful because he was just as much a soldier as anyone in uniform and a patriot besides. A patriot who was in love with the godlike power that went with his profession. “Stop that,”
the assassin said disgustedly. “Don’t embarrass yourself. . . . Not after such a long and colorful career. Yes, it would have been nice to die while taking a nice warm sand bath, but very few of us are granted that privilege. You’ll be happy to hear that both of us are excellent shots—so the whole thing will be over before you know it.”
“Kill me if you must,” Orno replied earnestly. “But spare my mate. Her only crime is loyalty to me. Besides, what I said was true, I really do have information about President Nankool. Information that would be extremely valuable to the Ramanthian government!”
Bamik glanced at his partner. “Did you hear that, Nondo? Some people simply refuse to listen.” That was when the agent fi?red. There was a pop as the bullet entered the ex-diplomat’s chest, exited through his back, and struck the Egg Orno. Both collapsed without a sound and lay motionless in a steadily expanding pool of blood.
“Nice work, boss,” Nondo said admiringly. “The idiot never saw it coming. . . . Not to mention the fact that you took care of both targets with one bullet!”
Bamik looked down at the bodies and nodded. “We’re on a budget,” the assassin said coldly. “And bullets cost money.”
Nondo thought that was funny, and was still clacking his left pincer in approval, as Bamik took a series of photos plus two tissue samples, all of which would be sent to Hive to prove that the hit had been completed. Then, having accomplished their mission, the agents left. But, unbeknownst to the assassins, one of their victims was still alive. PLANET JERICHO, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE
There was a solid thump as the shuttle’s skids touched the tarmac, followed by a steadily diminishing scream as the engines spooled down, and the troopers at the front of the cargo compartment rose and went to work. Because the POWs had been divided into multiple work groups Tragg was no longer able to oversee all of the prisoners personally. So to enhance security the slaves had been chained to their seats and couldn’t leave the spacecraft until released. A good fi?ve minutes passed before Vanderveen and her companions were freed, ordered to stand, and herded out into the bright sunshine.
The sky, the humid air, and the feel of solid ground under the diplomat’s feet all came as something of a shock after weeks in orbit and made her head swim. There were gasps of astonishment as the POWs paused to look up at the long slivery thread that hung suspended above them. The origins of the space elevator were too high to be seen, and the cable end wasn’t low enough to touch the ground as yet, but the results of their efforts were plain to see. Like those around her, Vanderveen couldn’t help but feel a moment of pride as she looked up into the achingly blue sky, saw the crosshatched contrails created by the hardworking tugs, and knew that more sections of cable were being hung even as she watched. And soon, as more and more of the elevator became subject to Jericho’s gravity, both the POWs and the tugs would move down to the surface. It was a moment Vanderveen and the other members of the LG were looking forward to because Nankool was still in orbit, and it was diffi?cult to protect him there. The POWs might have gawked a bit longer had they been allowed to, but the Ramanthian everyone referred to as “gimpy” behind his back was in a hurry to get rid of his charges and eat dinner. “You move!” the guard insisted, as he jabbed a marine with his rifl?e. “Or I shoot you good!”
So with the Ramanthian limping ahead, and more guards following along behind, the slaves made their way across the hot tarmac. Vanderveen noticed that a lot of things had changed during her absence. More shuttles were parked along the edge of the fi?eld. And in spite of the fact that the furballs claimed to be neutral, some of the ships belonged to the Thrakies.
And given the number of spacecraft on the ground, it wasn’t surprising to see ragged looking POWs loading cargo modules onto a train of driverless fl?atbed carriers that whined loudly as they followed a lead unit off the apron and into the jungle.
Farther out, beyond the airfi?eld’s perimeter, Vanderveen could see that the newly excavated forerunner ruins were being prepped to receive the cable end. Which, if the scuttlebutt was correct, was what she and her companions were slated to work on next.
Tower-mounted automatic weapons tracked the prisoners as the gate swung open to admit them, and the line of emaciated scarecrows who sat with their backs resting on the wall of the so-called dispensary sent up a reedy cheer as their newly returned comrades entered the camp. But Vanderveen was saddened to see that very few of the patients were able to stand, much less come forward to greet their friends, as they might have four or fi?ve weeks earlier. And they were the healthier specimens, the ones judged fi?t to go outside, while those who were dying lay within. But other than the handful of people sitting outside the dispensary, the rest of the camp was practically deserted. Partly because the able-bodied personnel were outside the fence on work details, but also because hundreds of prisoners were still working in space, where they would remain until phase two began.
So Vanderveen had every reason to expect that she and her comrades would immediately be put to work. And maybe they would have if Tragg had been present. But in the absence of orders from the Ramanthians, most of the POWs withdrew to the huts, where they took muchneeded naps. And the diplomat was no exception. Within moments of going facedown on a sour-smelling pallet, Vanderveen was unconscious, and remained that way, until a few hours later when the noise generated by the returning work crews woke her.
Vanderveen was hungry by then, very hungry, and followed the others to the chow line where the so-called scoops were serving the same gray gruel they had been ladling out when she left. Except that after weeks of cold MSMREs eaten aboard the Imperator, the hot mush actually tasted good! A sad state of affairs indeed. There wasn’t enough of the brew, however, and Vanderveen was busy licking the bottom of her bowl, when Calisco plopped down next to her.
Some people, no make that most people, had been systematically weakened since the surrender. But Calisco was a notable exception. Because by some form of alchemy the diplomat couldn’t quite fathom, the sly, often-leering sycophant she had known aboard the Gladiator had been transformed into a person Vanderveen could almost like. Because he was a man who had been through a terrible experience and somehow been purifi?ed by it. Even if Calisco still had a tendency to look at the FSO as if she were naked.
Calisco had been on the ground while Vanderveen worked on the Imperator—so the next fi?fteen minutes were spent exchanging information until both were up-to-date.
“So,” the bearded offi?cial concluded, having checked to ensure that no one was listening, “tonight’s the night.”