Wolf turned to another screen. This one showed the face of a single Dragoon, Colonel Jason Carmody, head of aerospace operations. Carmody's dark face tensed as Wolf addressed him.

“Jason, barring word to the contrary from me or from the Hephaestus,you will begin Operation Recovery on Captain Shadd's transmission. In the meantime, we negotiate with the brigands holding our people and pretend we'll do business with them.

“We are committed, ladies and gentlemen,” Wolf announced to his assembled audience. “Ready your 'Mechs.”

43

ComStar Compound, Cerant, An Ting

Galedon Military District, Draconis Combine

3 January 3028

 

“Malkin' bugs!” the ComStar Acolyte muttered, slapping his neck at the sting. He scratched at the spot and cursed again.

“They're always bad this time of year, Seldes,” his companion said. His grin at his friend's discomfort vanished when one stung him, too. “Damn! They're big this year. If they get worse, we'll need antiaircraft artillery.”

“We'll need the artillery all right, but not for the bugs. The Dragoons won't take it lying down that ComStar has refused to let them send out messages. Mark me, Kent. They're gonna try something.”

“What can they do? ComStar is neutral, protected by all the Successor States so it can serve them all. Even if the Dragoons weren't on Kurita's bad side, the Draconians would defend the compound. This guard duty is a waste of time. Standing out all night trying to look watchful. What a pain! We should be getting a good night's sleep. We've got nothing to worry about. Anybody who tries to get in will get caught at the wall. You've seen those Kurita volunteers, haven't you? Tough mothers. I wouldn't want to cross any of them, would you?”

The answer was a ragged snore. Kent glanced over at his companion. Seldes had slumped against the archway, his head leaning against the lintel.

“Guess you're gonna get your sleep anyway.” Kent stifled a yawn. “It's not a bad idea. Hope the Precentor don't catch ...” The rest of the thought went unspoken as his knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground.

A man-shaped shadow detached itself from the darkness and passed between the sleeping guards. It entered the building and joined the blacker darkness within. A few seconds later, it was back in the archway, waving twice before it vanished again.

More shadows materialized from the night and crept after the first. All seemed to move with feline grace, except for one who stumbled over Kent's rifle. At the slight clatter, the other shadows dropped into defensive crouches and froze into immobility. They remained fixed a few seconds before resuming their progress. One hustled the clumsy silhouette-man through the archway. Two others took hold of the fallen Acolytes and dragged them into the building. A fourth scooped up the abandoned weapons, and brought up the rear.

The shadow men flitted through the outer building and across the inner courtyard, stopping for a short, hushed conference at an unguarded inner door. Moments later, all but two remained at the entrance, sheltered in darkness.

Those two, one slim and graceful and the other stocky and clumsy, penetrated deeper into the edifice. The two shapes moved silently on soft-soled boots through the darkened corridors. Near a cross-corridor, the taller figure stopped its gliding progress and motioned to the other to wait. The second figure shuffled to a halt and leaned against a doorway. The first slid around the corner, out of sight. No one was there to see the waiting black-clad figure tremble as he huddled against the dark wood of the door.

Without warning, the door on the opposite side of the hall opened, spilling light into the corridor. The man who opened it wore the elaborate robes of a ComStar Precentor. By the look on his face, he was almost as startled as the shadow he had surprised. His hand reached again for the knob, but the intruder's gun spoke in a series of stuttering coughs before the Precentor could take the first backward step.

Bright bursts of blood starred the man's robes, and his body jerked as he staggered back into the room under the force of the continued impacts. He tumbled backward over a chair to land splayed on the floor. Slugs continued to tear into his body long after it had stopped moving of its own volition.

The first shadow returned. Its head-covering hood had been removed, revealing the face of Anton Shadd. The commando leader's face was set in a mask of rage. His hand snaked out to slap the pudgy, black-clad figure across its concealed face. The blow broke the paralysis that had welded the man's gloved finger to the trigger of his weapon.

“Unity, Scott!” Shadd gritted out. His voice was low to keep it from carrying too far. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

Tech Chief Scott gasped like a gaffed pisciform. His left hand came up and dragged the hood and Blackwell night goggles from his head. His face was pale and slicked with sweat. He gobbled air. It took two tries before he could find his voice. Imitating Shadd, he spoke in a whisper.

“He came through the door. I thought he was going to give the alarm.”

“So you shot him!” Shadd's voice was full of disgust. “That was the Precentor. We needed him for the transmission codes.”

“He surprised me. I thought he was going to give us away.”

“You panicked.”

“So what if I did?” Scott shot back. “I wasn't trained for this. I'm a Tech, not a professional killer like you Sevens.”

Shadd clenched his jaw, biting off a retort. Instead, he said, “I found the HPG control chamber. Let's go.” Shadd closed the door on the carnage and returned the corridor to darkness. “Next time, leave any killing to the professionals.”

Not a word passed between the two Dragoons on the short walk to their destination.

Smoke from the presence lamps hung in a greasy haze below the chamber's high, domed ceiling. The red-tinted glass filled the room with a ruddy glow, and incarnadine reflections glinted from shiny chrome and pale plastic hardware.

The HyperPulse Generator's bulky regulator equipment and horseshoe-shaped control board dominated the center of the room. Heavy, shielded cables emerged from the machinery and ran to the north wall, behind which was hidden the massive generator. Lesser communications devices, computer consoles, and data storage units lined the walls.

An open stairway led from the entrance to a catwalk that circled the chamber three meters above the floor. The walk extended out to a platform overlooking the controls. The velvet-draped, high-backed chair was the Precentor's throne, positioned to give him a view of the actions of his Acolytes as they performed the transmission rituals.

Shadd checked for other entrances while Scott walked to the control console and studied the layout. The commando found a small door on the south wall. From the orbital photos of the compound that he studied, he knew it opened into the private garden of the Precentor's residence. There was little likelihood of disturbance from that quarter. The only other portals to the outside were the shuttered windows along the catwalk.

A rattling sound made Shadd swivel suddenly, his subgun at the ready. Seeing that the noise was only the Tech Chief removing a panel from the front of the control board, he relaxed. Scott was poking and prying at the exposed wiring and circuit boards in a desultory fashion.

“Come on, Scott. Every minute you waste fiddling with that thing means we're more likely to get caught.”

“This isn't easy, Shadd. This malking machine's a patchwork. It's been crosswired eight ways to Sunday. There are patches on top of patches in the wiring. So many that I can't be sure what circuit is what. I don't think the Robes had any idea of what they were doing.”