And it was during that process that one of ship’s main magazines blew, people struggled to keep their feet, and the entire operation went into high gear. The Ramanthians were afraid now, afraid that the ship would disintegrate with them still aboard. So Vanderveen and all of the rest were herded into the waiting shuttles. The air was warm, thanks to the heat from their engines, and heavily tainted with the stench of ozone.
It didn’t take a genius to fi?gure out that there were more prisoners than the twenty shuttles could hold. And Vanderveen knew that meant that some of the Gladiator’s crew would be left behind. Other people began to realize the same thing, and there was a mad rush to board the spaceships. Guards fi?red over the crowd in a futile attempt to stem the fl?ood, but suddenly realized that they could be left behind and hurried to join the fear-crazed mob. Vanderveen wasn’t sure she wanted to board one of the shuttles, especially if there was an opportunity to enter one of the Gladiator’s many escape pods instead; but she never got the chance to do more than think about the alternative as the people behind her pushed the FSO forward. Naked bodies collided with hers, an elbow jabbed her ribs, and the man directly in front of the diplomat went down.
Vanderveen attempted to step over the body but couldn’t, and felt the crewman’s back give as she was forced to put her weight on it, and tried to shout an apology as the river of fl?esh carried her up a ramp and into one of the shuttles.
There were bench-style seats along both bulkheads, but no one got the opportunity to sit on them, as the lead POWs were pushed forward and smashed against the bulkhead. Fortunately, Nankool was there, ordering people to be calm, and somehow convincing them to do so.
Then the ramp was retracted, Vanderveen felt the shuttle lift off and start to move. There were lights, but not very many, and only a few viewports. However, the diplomat was close enough to see dozens of screaming, kicking prisoners sucked out of the launch bay into the airless abyss of space as massive doors parted.
The shuttle jerked back and forth as the Ramanthian pilot was forced to thread his way through a maze of fl?oating debris before fi?nally clearing the battle zone. Then, as the spaceship began to turn away, there was a massive explosion. Bright light strobed the inside the of the shuttle, but there was no sound, as the Gladiator came apart. Someone began to pray, and even though Vanderveen had never been very religious, she bowed her head. The journey to hell had begun.
For those who would rule, the greatest threat can often be found standing right next to them, with a well-honed blade and a ready smile.
2.
—Lin Po Lee
Philosopher Emeritus, The League of PlanetsStandard year 2169
FORT CAMERONE, PLANET ALGERON,
THE CONFEDERACY OF SENTIENT BEINGS
As a stream of formally attired dignitaries shuffl?ed in through the double doors, Legion General William “Bill”
Booly III, and his wife, Maylo Chien-Chu, were forced to pause while the colorfully plumed Prithian ambassador was announced to the crowd beyond. That gave the couple a moment in which to look at what normally functioned as the fort’s mess hall but, having been commandeered for the vice president’s fi?rst annual military ball, had magically been transformed into a ballroom.
All of the grim posters cautioning legionnaires about the dangers of land mines, unsecured weapons, and sexually transmitted diseases had been replaced by yard upon yard of colorful bunting that hung in carefully measured scallops along the walls. The previously green support columns had been painted white, detailed to look like marble, and hung with pots of artifi?cial fl?owers. The normally bare mess tables wore crisp white bedsheets. And the Legion’s best silver, which had been brought up out of the vaults for the occasion, sparkled with refl?ected candlelight. Additional color was provided by dress uniforms and the clothing worn by civilians, senators, and other government offi?cials. It was quite a transformation, but Booly had never been one for parties and frowned accordingly.
“It looks like a rim world whorehouse,” the offi?cer observed in a voice so low that only his wife could hear it. Besides being Booly’s wife, Maylo Chien-Chu was president of a vast business empire founded by her uncle, Sergi Chien-Chu, and a natural beauty. She had raven black hair, large almond-shaped eyes, and the high cheekbones of a model. The stiff-collared red sheath dress clung to her long lean body like a second skin and had already begun to attract attention from both men and women alike. She smiled and gave her husband’s arm an affectionate squeeze. “Don’t be such a grump. People need to relax once in a while. Besides, when did you become an expert on rim world whorehouses?”
Booly might have made a response but never got the chance, since that was the moment when the formally attired sergeant major announced both their names and brought his intricately carved staff down with a decisive thump.
“General William Booly—and Ms. Maylo Chien-Chu.”
As the senior offi?cer on Algeron, or anywhere else, for that matter, Booly was a someone in the small, highly charged world of the Confederacy’s wartime government. And given the fact that there were always plenty of people who wanted to curry favor with the offi?cer’s billionaire wife, the two of them were soon hard at work maintaining important relationships, resisting tidal waves of fl?attery, and listening for the nuggets of information that are accidentally or intentionally shared at such affairs. Tidbits that can be stored, used, or traded according to need. Meanwhile, the Legion’s band continued to play, there was a stir as the by now red-faced sergeant major announced, “Vice President Leo Jakov, and Assistant Undersecretary for Foreign Affairs Kay Wilmot.” The words were punctuated with another thump of his heavy staff. The vice president was theoretically the number two person in the government, but actually had very little power, so long as the president was capable of performing his or her duties. Jakov had thick black hair, a vid-star-handsome face, and a full, some said sensual, mouth. His body, which was thick without being fat, seemed to radiate physical power. This fact was not lost on what were said to be dozens of lovers, some of whom were not only well-known, but willing to testify regarding his sexual prowess.
Less known to those outside the realm of government was Jakov’s companion of late. An extremely ambitious diplomat named Kay Wilmot. Those who kept track of such things agreed that the assistant undersecretary had shed at least ten pounds since accepting a temporary position on Jakov’s staff, where, according to certain wags, the
“under” secretary took her title quite literally. But even the harshest of critics would have been forced to admit that Wilmot was a match for any of the vice president’s previous consorts on that particular evening. Though not a beautiful woman, the foreign service offi?cer was attractive, and she knew how to emphasize what she had through the use of carefully applied makeup. That, plus a green dress cut to emphasize her large breasts, drew plenty of attention from the human males in attendance.
All conversations came to a halt, and there was lightbut-sustained applause as the couple entered the huge room, both because Jakov was well liked, and because the military ball was not only the vice president’s idea, but had been funded out of his pockets. Booly and Maylo watched with amusement as at least half of their fi?ckle admirers left to join the throng of beings now gathered around Jakov and Wilmot.
But such defections were to be expected, and without President Nankool being there to claim the spotlight, it was Jakov’s night to be at the center of attention. A role he clearly enjoyed, as senators, ambassadors, and senior military offi?cers lined up to claim their smile, pat on the back, or well-honed joke.
Hors d’oeuvres were served fi?fteen minutes later. In spite of the fact that the Legion’s cooks spent most of their time churning out thousands of meals for both the troops and the large contingent of civilians who had been forced to take up residence on Algeron, they could still produce something approaching haute cuisine when the occasion demanded, a fact that quickly became apparent as trays of beautifully prepared appetizers made the rounds. Included were a variety of creations that not only melted in the mouth, beak, or siphon tube, but represented the full spectrum of culinary traditions found within the boundaries of the Confederacy. Never mind the fact that some of the offerings were diffi?cult to look at, had a tendency to crawl about, or produced what some guests considered to be unappetizing odors.