Uneasy, Felix threw the locking bar and sprinted for the shuttle. Kosho was waiting on the loading ramp, silhouetted against the bright lights of the shuttle hold and the yellow-orange glow of the sun gilding the runway and the other station buildings.
"Come on, Felix, the captain wants us upstairs right away."
The Heicho double-timed up the ramp, automatically checking to make sure her men and the engineers were strapped in, the cargo was secured and everything was shipshape. The ramp whined up, and then clanged shut. Koshoran through the environmental seal checklist at light-speed and then tapped open her comm.
"Kosho to pilot, we're clear to lift. Is the other shuttle ready to take off?"
Hai, kyo. They are on rollout now.
Felix found a seat and wedged herself in. Kosho was sitting opposite, somehow already secured and looking unruffled in her matte black Fleet z-suit. The shuttle began to tremble and the Heicho felt the landing wheels rolling across broken concrete through the seat of her armor. She thumbed up a v-pane on the inside of her visor, catching the feed from the pilot's station. Clouds were still building over the field and the northern horizon was black with rain.
"Kyo – did Helsdon tell you about the power packs?"
Kosho nodded, lifting her chin to indicate the row of crates secured to the pal-lets running down the middle of the hold. "Isoroku got stiffed, I see. What was supposed to be in these packs?"
"Military-grade field power cells," Helsdon said. The machinist's mate had his comp out and the inventory tag on the side of the nearest cargo pack was blinking in response. "Sunda Aerospace Yards PPCAM-17's – that's a long-term, antimatter powered cell – should keep those satellites with juice for…" The engineer paused, and Felix turned, catching a raised eyebrow through the glassite of his facemask. "…about three thousand years at the draw on file for the commsats the Board is putting up."
"What?" Kosho turned her attention on the Board technician, who looked like he'd swallowed a whole puffer fish. "What does the Development Board think it's doing? Those satellites will wear out from micrometeoroid abrasion long before these cells decay!"
The shuttle trembled again, rolling out onto the landing strip tarmac.
Hold on, came the pilot's voice. The other shuttle is boosting off the field now. We'll be at high-grav accel in -
Felix flinched, her face suddenly awash in brilliant light. The pilot shouted in alarm.
The evacuation shuttle carrying the clerks from the Supply office disintegrated in a blossom of blue-white flame. For an instant, both engines continued to flare, propelling the shattered vehicle out over the shantytown surrounding the landing field. Then the shuttle drive blew apart in a secondary explosion. A corona of explosive gas and smoke belled out in a black cloud, and then burning debris was raining down among the rows of huts. The main mass of the shuttle, wreathed in flame, corkscrewed into the ground. Another concussive blast followed, flinging shattered rooftops and wooden tiles up in a billowing cloud of dust and smoke.
Missile launch plume at eight o'clock! the pilot shouted. That was a high-v interceptor shot!
Felix twitched back to look at the Sho-sa, and Kosho's voice was crystalline in her earbug: "Battle comp says it was a ATGM – they've got a sprint range of six kilometers – full acceleration, Chu-i, and keep us on the deck! If they only have one launcher there's a minute-and-a-half reload time between shots. Get us out of range!"
Felix jammed her head back against the supports and the Fleet shuttle engines lit off at maximum power. The back blast flooded the hangar behind them, tearing off the doors, and sending flames roaring from the windows. The entire building buckled, crumpling like a paper bag tossed into a fireplace. The shuttle roared across the tarmac, crossways to the flight line, canted over at an angle – wingtip barely missing the rooftop of a maintenance shed – and blew across the perimeter fence with a shriek of ruptured air.
A rippling crack-crack-crack slammed into flimsy buildings, shattering windows and deafening thousands of amazed Jehanans crowding into the narrow lanes to see what had made the violent noise in the sky. Howling wind lashed them seconds later and the multitude flattened as the gleaming black shape of the shuttle raced past overhead, heading northeast.
Clinging grimly to her shockwebbing, Kosho cleared the ground-to-ship channel. "Hayes! We've been attacked at the Sobipurй field by a ground-launched surface-to-air missile. Do you have us on tracking scope? Hayes? Hayes, are you there?"
The comm channel was howling with static, frequency indicators blazing red and hopping madly as the comp in her suit searched desperately for a clear channel.
"Hayes?! Kosho to the Cornuelle, is anyone there?"
The Gemmilsky House Gandaris, "Abode of the Heaven-Sundering Kings"
Prince Tezozуmoc stretched out his arms and beckoned with his head for Sergeant Dawd to produce the next garment. Trying not to roll his eyes, the Skawtsman draped a greenish-tan velvet shirt over the young man's arms and chest.
"Hmmm…no…makes me look too sallow." The prince plucked the silk out of the sergeant's hand and tossed the shirt into a heap of equally unsuitable garments. "Is there anything red in there? A nice crimson or scarlet one – they always make me look striking."
"You've already gone through the red ones, mi'lord." Dawd pursed his lips. "We're down to duller tones."
"Curst wardrobe! Where is that adjutant! He's lost all my good shirts…" Tezozуmoc kicked a wardrobe bag aside and began rooting through his boxes of shoes. "Did I give one of my shirts to Mrs. Petrel – that's it, I did! Hers was ruined…" The prince squinted over his shoulder at Dawd. "Oh, Lord of Light, I spilled wine on her blouse didn't I?"
"You were laughing, mi'lord," Dawd said, keeping a straight face. "And the glass tipped."
Tezozуmoc blushed. "I shouldn't be allowed to touch alcohol. I gave her the red shirt as a replacement? Did I apologize?"
Dawd nodded. "I believe you did, mi'lord."
The prince made a growling sound, hands on his hips. "Can't we beg off this festival? Say I've cut off my head by mistake, or lost a leg in a car accident?"
"No mi'lord, we cannot." Dawd said patiently. "Mrs. Petrel and her ladies have already gone off to breakfast. Corporal Clark will be coming back for us momentarily with the aerocar. So you do, in fact, have to get dressed, be presentable and prepared to hobnob with the kujen and his relatives."
Tezozуmoc pouted sourly. "What is a Nem anyway? One of their gods?"
"The Nem, mi'lord, is a flowering bush – sometimes growing into a tree – which grows in the bottomlands along local rivers. Their blossoms herald the end of the rainy season. I also understand they are considered sacred, due to a bitter, psychotropically-active sap -"
Tezozуmoc, perking up at the prospect of something novel, was taken aback by the fixed, focusless way the Skawtsman stared at the door to the prince's dressing chamber and he turned, wondering what had drawn Dawd's attention.