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enough mages on duty." A superior, amused light glitters in Sorya's eyes.
"Forgive me for concluding you were the indispensable one." Her tongue visibly
fondles the irony in this phrase. She tosses her hair, gives her lilting
laugh. "You may have me indicted if you wish.
Constantine's brooding eyes gaze up at a blank video monitor. "Drumbeth dead.
That is ill news. He could carry a good many soldiers and officers with him.
"Pfah." Disdainfully. "Soldiers and officers are readily bought... here and
elsewhere.
The voices are swallowed by the vast silence. They are deep in the Aerial
Palace, in a cavernous command center tucked amid the giant
brass-and-black-ceramic plasm accumulators and capacitors, the conduits of
command nestled in perfect union with the font of military and magical power.
The room is paneled in dark wood and lit by fluorescents set in long,
scalloped brass chandeliers. On three walls are paintings of scenes from the
military history of Caraqui, such as it is. Oval video monitors are mounted
high on all sides, mostly set to outside views of the Palace, dull views of
bridges and roadblocks, here and there a pockmarked wall or a wisp of smoke.
A map of the metropolis and its environs, three times Aiah's height, occupies
one wall. The map is painted on translucent plastic and is divided into
sectors, with colored lightbulbs behind each sector to show whether it is held
by friendly or enemy forces. Friendly is blue, neutral is white, and the
enemy shows as a pale pink stain, blotches of a bad complexion.
Most of the city is white, there being no information one way or another. But
the only blue light on the map is the Aerial Palace, and there is more pink
than blue.
The Avians built the map decades ago, precautions against a war that never
happened. It has waited unused till now.
Tables and chairs are set up in front of the display. Elaborately styled
telephone headsets, white ceramic with gold wire and gold ear- and
mouthpieces, are placed at intervals along the table. A silver vase filled
with red carnations sits on one of the tables. In the back of the room are
two carved wooden doors, set in brass frames, that lead to a communications
center. A side door leads down a short passage directly to the plasm control
room, with its glowing dials and its icon to Two-Faced Tangid.
Constantine paces as he thinks, hands locked behind his back, eyes shifting
from the map to the video monitors to Sorya. Aiah watches in silence.
Everything is collapsing into war and ruin, and it is all her fault.
There are two dozen people in the command center, though several of them, like
Aiah, seem to have no particular job to do. Half of them are in uniforms, and
the rest are civilians, mostly clerks. Sorya is perfectly at home in her
tailored green uniform, and sits with one polished boot thrown up on a table
while jotting in a notepad on her lap. Constantine stands in front of the
city map, his eyes brooding on the symbols, gauging times, distances, forces.
"What of the cabinet?" Constantine asks.
"You and the Minister for Economic Development seem to be the entire cabinet
at this point," Sorya says. "He was in his office when things started Faltheg
is a banker and of limited use in this crisis, but I have him in the
communications center trying to rally people to us. He has tried to contact
the other ministers, but I suspect they are under arrest, in hiding, or with
Colonel Radeen.
"Hilthi? Parq?
"The aide I sent to call Hilthi said there was no answer at his residence. I
have not sent anyone to go in person. The young gentleman who phoned Parq
could only get a secretary, but was told there had been shooting in the Grand
Temple, so I suspect the comforts of religion are to be denied us." She laughs
and tosses her head. "It was you and Drum-beth they were afraid of. You and
he they wasted plasm over. They knew who could stop them, and who could not.
They knew the journalist had no army, and that Parq's Dalavan Guard is a
collection of pensioners in splendid uniforms.
"We've lost the aerodrome. And Government Harbor will be gone soon.
My fault, Aiah thinks dully.
Constantine looks up at the map. "How about Broadcast Plaza?
"The guards report no disturbances.
"We have how many people there half a company?
"A little less than that.
"They should be reinforced. If we have radio and video, then we have a way to
inform the people that resistance is possible.
Sorya gives a cynical laugh. "How many guns do the people have?
"People, I remind, make up the army. Perhaps they do not know what their
commanders are about, and would refuse if they knew.
"Ah." Sorya shows teeth. "Yes.
"Miss Sorya." It is one of her aides, a smart young man in one of her green
uniforms. "I have a call from Hilthi. Shall I switch it to your phone?
"Put it on the speakers." She takes one of the headsets from its hook, sweeps
her long hair back, settles the gold earpieces on her ears, and speaks into
the conical golden mouthpiece.
"Mr. Hilthi," she says. "This is Sorya. Do you know what is going on?
"They tried to kill me!" Electronic distortion mars Hilthi's voice as it booms
from overhead speakers. The voice mingles excitement and anger with sheer
resentment at the assassins' effrontery. Constantine winces, motions to turn
down the volume.
"Are you safe now?" Sorya asks.
"I suppose so. We're at . . . another place. The police came to my home
to arrest me, but I told them no and . . . there was violence." A tremor
shakes Hilthi's voice. "My bodyguards killed all the police, and moved me to
a safer location.
My fault, Aiah thinks. Gentri's men. If she had only done as Constantine had
asked ...
Constantine gestures at Sorya for the headset, and she passes it to him. He
doesn't bother donning it, just holds the mouthpiece to his lips.
"This is Constantine. I'm very pleased you are safe, Triumvir.
A howl of feedback whines from the speakers. Constantine claps his hand over [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]