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grapple-parry of Tonne-Head's hands. The Gilead let his fear get the better of
him, dispersing his Row and impairing his Skills. Burning made a sliding
transition to his attack hold.
Tonne-Head recognized what was happening by then but was unable to
stop it.
Burning's hold let him pluck the Gilead's lid away from his left eyeball,
nearly tearing it loose. Then he got in close to avoid hitting his own hand
and spit the needle, its tiny whisk tail expanding as it left his lips.
The needle lodged in Tonne-Head's eye, drawing blood as the pneumosyünge
discharged its poison.
Chapter
Chapter
Chapter
Chapter
Eight
Eight
Eight
Eight
Tonne-Head barely had time to grunt. Sliding out of Burning's grip,
the sachem of Bastion Gilead went limp as a trickle of blood found
its way down his cheek. Burning stepped back to admire his
handiwork. Targeting dots lamped him from every direction. He assumed
that Renquald's sharpshooters would cut him down, but he about-faced to the
commissioner just the same.
"I'll convey your offer to Anvil Tor," Burning intoned regally.
"My best guess is that most of the Exts will demand their amnesty here on
Concordance or, at a minimum, insist on taking their dependents
ofrworld with them."
All eyes were on Burning, but ears were cocked for the order to corpsify
him. With Field Marshal Vukmirovic and Romola looking on, a medical
corps colonel had moved to Tonne-Head's side, but the Allgrave pro tern was
dead.
Renquald looked at Burning curiously. When he finally spoke, people flinched
and one or two of the more anxious sharpshooters almost opened fire
on Burning. "Absolutely nonnegotiable. Exts go; hostages remain behind.
That's my insurance."
Burning narrowed his eyes. "How do we know you'll keep your word?"
Renquald made a frivolous gesture. "I could betray you, I
suppose, but then, I could simply wipe you off Anvil Tor, too.
Consider this: I'll allow you to retain your arms as well as take along any
personal items that can reasonably be fetched to you.
No home visits. Should the Exts accept, you'll leave aboard
Sword of Damocles in very short order."
Burning felt nothing, neither triumph nor relief, but did not doubt
Renquald. The commissioner had nothing to gain by lying about the bastions
having reached a truce, and Romola, Tonne-Head, and Lod had corroborated
the story. The only true
Exts were the ones at firing pozzes on the Tor.
LAW would absorb the Broken Country no matter what.
Continued resistance would bring down retribution on the hostages or
cause them to be made less than human by implants.
"I can only convey your offer," he repeated.
"It's a beginning."
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Renquald made a careless crook of a forefinger, and the beauty in the
liaison uniform who had earlier made eyes at Lod marched over to Burning,
proffering a compact communication device. The commo gadge was Periapt work: a
camouflage-gray unit contoured for an easy one-hand grip.
"To keep me apprised," Renquald explained. "Field Marshal
Vukmirovic will see you back to the lines."
He made no further signal, but all at once escorts were moving into
position and someone was holding Vukmirovic's campaign cloak ready.
The liaison strode over to Lod, picked an imaginary piece of lint off his
sleeve, and fluffed his ascot. He put his lips to her ear, murmuring. She
nodded, then fondly lit the cigarette he had fitted into his golden holder.
Burning couldn't figure Lod out. Why the heavily toxed spit needle? A
guilt-driven act of secret patriotism or some grudge against Tonne-Head?
His future survival, like his past, lay in taking what personal advantage
he could from events he could not oppose.
Tucking away the commo unit, Burning felt something in his pocket the
engagement bracelet.
Romola was on her feet, more weary and dispirited than grieving. He
extended the bracelet to her, and she surprised him by taking it with a
moment's tenderness.
"Oh, Emmett, shitl
You've killed the only person in this whole sorry mess who was an even
worse politician than you are."
Burning couldn't think of anything to say. Nothing fit recognizable
patterns anymore. He kept waiting to feel something even as Vukmirovic
was drawing him out under the
HQ portico.
The rain was coming down more heavily than ever. Burning's helmet, weapon, and
other gear were waiting in a big hover staff car that flew Vukmirovic's
pennons. Driver and assistant were already in the cockpit, and the turret
gun was manned. Burning ducked in and slid across a plush bench seat. The
field marshal alone joined him, leaving his staffers behind. Several
LAW
infantrymen in exoarmor hopped on the running boards and grabbed
handholds, steadiguns poised one-handed Then the staff car rose, warning
lights cycling and flashing, siren whooping.
Burning could only figure that the Periapts had to trust him a little. In
the display-lit dimness of the passenger compartment there was nothing
to keep him from conducting a .50-caliber cavitation experiment on
Vukmirovic's head.
No, the hour for blind retaliation was gone gone as
Tonne-Head Gilead, as the glory of a last stand on Anvil Tor, as the
engagement bracelet's symbolism.
* * * *
* * * *
* * * *
* * * *
Romola went off resignedly with Tonne-Head's corpse and the body detail.
Lod's admirer made herself scarce when she saw that
Renquald wanted to talk to him privately.
"I thought for just a moment that he might kill her," Renquald remarked.
"
Romola
? Never. I told you, I know Burning like my own hand." Lod managed
to sound blase but was vastly relieved that matters hadn't gone the other
way. "Makes a nice, tidy package, doesn't it? Tonne-Head's thick-witted
interference eliminated;
reasonable Romola inherits wealth and influence, especially if she's
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pregnant; the murderer exits the scene, putting any bastion vendetta on hold
indefinitely; and the Exts are transformed from martyrs to inadvertent symbols
of conciliation "
He stopped as Renquald showed him a look of mild displeasure. Lod's
plan had worked, and gloating over success was a waste of valuable time.
Summoning advisers, the commissioner left him. Lod tried to blow a smoke ring,
but it refused to take shape.
* * * *
* * * *
* * * *
* * * *
The staff car lifted slowly. Even though warnings were being
transmitted to the Exts that their Allgrave was returning under a flag of
truce, the driver was proceeding with caution.
Vukmirovic turned to Burning and said, "
Damocles is due to launch for Periapt in five days. We delayed
departure so that you'd be onboard." He quirked a smile. "Renquald didn't
get to be a commissioner by being a fool."
The AlphaLAW expedition had remained on station since its arrival three
years earlier. Concordance's first starship, Dhul-Faqar
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