[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
empty, drained, and so is much of the old factory structure underneath. The
buried structure at Terminal will generate more over time, but for the moment
even its awesome resources are strained.
Aiah turns dials. 'Wizard One, I'm giving you all there is. We're depleted!'
'Oh, crap.'
'The Aerial Palace is secure,' Trucker reports almost anticlimactically. 'They
haven't found anything on the top floors but bodies.'
'Silver is trying to transmit a surrender demand to the Metropolitan Guard.'
Another announcement. 'No reply yet.'
Silver is the code name for Colonel Drumbeth, the leader and instigator of the
coup. This is the first Aiah's heard of him since the whole action began.
She looks up at the screens again, the buildings burning.
My fault.
* * * o8:z2.
The security men are quietly gathering up papers and equipment for the burn
safe. Vehicles are being readied for a fast exit.
Fire fills the video screens. The Metropolitan Guard hasn't replied to any of
the repeated surrender demands, leaving the rebels with no option but to
continue their attack. Resistance has almost ceased some scattered gunfire
is still directed at attackers but for the most part the Guard receive their
pounding in silence, without reply. All the Guard's plasm connections have
been broken. Their mages have ceased action and may well be dead, cooked alive
in their bunkers. No one can tell.
The waters of the Martyrs' Canal reflect a wall of flame, a fireball eating
its way outward. Panicked residents choke the quays and the bridges, most of
which have been broken or blocked in an attempt to keep the mercenaries from
crossing. The Qinchath mage, or someone, is lifting the waters of the canal to
pour on the burning buildings, but the fires are beyond his control.
'I can see police cars,' Wizard Three reports. Aiah is too mentally exhausted
to react to the announcement. 'Cars coming down Eleven-ninety-first Street,
but the weekend crowds are slowing them down. I don't detect anyone observing
us through plasm.'
'Shut down the transmission horns,' Aldemar says. 'Leave my station live, but
everyone else get out.'
Aiah throws the switches for the last time.
'Gloves in the burn safe,' a security man reminds.
Aiah peels off her gloves and throws them into the burn safe, then moves
toward the cars. Aldemar stands up at her station and calls out.
'I'm going to cover your withdrawal, and then I've got to give this place a
quick-and-dirty cleaning. Get out as quick as you can.'
'This way, miss!' a guard says, opening the sliding rear door to a small van.
His tone shows impatience. Aiah jumps into the back along with Red and
Trucker. In the instant before the door slams she glances up at the screens
and sees only orange fire.
The van is in motion before the factory door has completely slid open. Aiah
balances herself against a violent turn as the van swings into traffic, its
horn bleating to clear pedestrians out of the way.
The driver looks at Aiah through mirrored shieldglasses. 'Where do you need to
go, miss?' he says. 'We haven't been left instructions.'
'Take me to Rocketman trackline station,' she says.
'I don't know where that is. I need directions.'
Aiah makes her way forward and slides into the passenger seat. In the rearview
mirror she can see two other vehicles in convoy behind. Startled pedestrians
are jumping out of the way of the vehicles.
'How are you people getting out?' she asks.
'InterMetropolitan Highway,' the driver says. 'We'll be out of Jaspeer in less
than ninety minutes, traffic willing.'
Aiah stares at a flash in the rearview mirror, a bloom of orange and black.
Her heart gives a cry of anguish.
'The factory!' she says. 'It's on fire!'
The driver gives her another expressionless look. 'When mages clean,' he says,
'they clean.'
09:00.
New Central Line to Mudki Station. Mudki is huge, and Aiah makes a point of
wandering through a lot of it, making it difficult for any plasm hound to
trace exactly where she intends to go. She buys fresh bread and rolls from a
vendor, then takes the Red Line home.
10:44.
Aiah walks through the door of Loeno Towers. She had hoped to enter unseen but
the doorman not the one she'd taken to the chromo smiles and opens the
door for her. She offers him a roll and tells him she'd gone out for breakfast
supplies.
In her apartment she depolarizes the windows to full light, makes breakfast
and watches the video news. A new military government in Caraqui, she hears,
much fighting and loss of life. A burning aeroplane crashed in a crowded
residential area of Makdar, creating an explosion and fire that killed over
160 people. A punctured airship had draped itself over several buildings in a
district of Liri-Domei, but no one has been injured. An old factory building
on fire on 1190th Street, the neighborhood threatened, no deaths reported.
Scarcely tasting it, Aiah eats slice after slice of the bread. She's never
been hungrier in her life.
She wonders if Aldemar made it out of the factory. She doesn't see how.
13:02.
The hourly news broadcast shows Caraqui's new government, little Drumbeth in a
fresh uniform, Parq in full clerical regalia, red and gold, wearing the Mask
of Awe that demonstrates he's acting in his official capacity as head of the
Dalavites. Apparently he joined the winning side in time. A third figure in
the triumvirate is a spare, disdainful civilian she's never heard of, a
journalist described as a 'leading dissident'.
All the cameras are on Constantine, though, looming behind the three in his
long snakeskin coat. Sorya stands next to him, a self-satisfied smile on her
face.
And standing on the other side of Constantine is Aldemar, her face neatly made
up, eyes gazing complacently at the cameras from under her level bangs. Aiah
stares and wonders how she escaped from the factory that she herself had set
on fire, let alone got to a Caraqui still in the midst of a revolution.
Teleportation, she thinks. The rarest and most dangerous of mage skills.
Aldemar, it would seem, is a much better mage than even her chromos ever made
out.
Almost all the journalists' questions are addressed to Constantine. 'This is
not my moment,' he finally says, 'but Caraqui's, a metropolis that has been
rescued from generations of government by bandits. Please address your
questions to Colonel Drumbeth.'
This, Aiah comforts herself, is her responsibility as well.
2J.20.
A feather touch in Aiah's mind, a stimulation of the senses the scent of
soft leather, musk, a deep voice that speaks gently to the inner ear.
Precious Lady, can you hear me?
Aiah touches* her throat and sits down suddenly on her unmade bed.
Yes. Yes, I can hear.
-1 wish to thank you. Aldemar says that you did very well today. You were
right to divert plasm to the Martyrs' Canal, I was too close to the fighting
to realize that.
There is a lump in Aiah's throat.
That boy. He died.
You were not responsible for that. He overestimated his own abilities.
So many others must have died.
Constantine's tone is matter-of-fact.
Yes, certainly. But compared to what happened in
Cheloki, I think we got off lightly.
Aiah cannot entirely find ease in this thought. Constantine continues.
- You were brave and most resourceful, he sends. I wish
to give you a reward if this can be done safely. There will
be money in a bank account in Gunalaht, and I will send
you the numbers and a chop when it's safe. Those people who lost their homes,
Aiah sighs. Take care of them first.
-
- Yes. Yes. I am, finally, in a position to do that.
-
A phantom hand seems to stroke Aiah's hair. Constan-tine's scent rises in her
nostrils.
- Farewell, brave Lady, he sends. I will not forget your
brightness. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl rafalstec.xlx.pl
empty, drained, and so is much of the old factory structure underneath. The
buried structure at Terminal will generate more over time, but for the moment
even its awesome resources are strained.
Aiah turns dials. 'Wizard One, I'm giving you all there is. We're depleted!'
'Oh, crap.'
'The Aerial Palace is secure,' Trucker reports almost anticlimactically. 'They
haven't found anything on the top floors but bodies.'
'Silver is trying to transmit a surrender demand to the Metropolitan Guard.'
Another announcement. 'No reply yet.'
Silver is the code name for Colonel Drumbeth, the leader and instigator of the
coup. This is the first Aiah's heard of him since the whole action began.
She looks up at the screens again, the buildings burning.
My fault.
* * * o8:z2.
The security men are quietly gathering up papers and equipment for the burn
safe. Vehicles are being readied for a fast exit.
Fire fills the video screens. The Metropolitan Guard hasn't replied to any of
the repeated surrender demands, leaving the rebels with no option but to
continue their attack. Resistance has almost ceased some scattered gunfire
is still directed at attackers but for the most part the Guard receive their
pounding in silence, without reply. All the Guard's plasm connections have
been broken. Their mages have ceased action and may well be dead, cooked alive
in their bunkers. No one can tell.
The waters of the Martyrs' Canal reflect a wall of flame, a fireball eating
its way outward. Panicked residents choke the quays and the bridges, most of
which have been broken or blocked in an attempt to keep the mercenaries from
crossing. The Qinchath mage, or someone, is lifting the waters of the canal to
pour on the burning buildings, but the fires are beyond his control.
'I can see police cars,' Wizard Three reports. Aiah is too mentally exhausted
to react to the announcement. 'Cars coming down Eleven-ninety-first Street,
but the weekend crowds are slowing them down. I don't detect anyone observing
us through plasm.'
'Shut down the transmission horns,' Aldemar says. 'Leave my station live, but
everyone else get out.'
Aiah throws the switches for the last time.
'Gloves in the burn safe,' a security man reminds.
Aiah peels off her gloves and throws them into the burn safe, then moves
toward the cars. Aldemar stands up at her station and calls out.
'I'm going to cover your withdrawal, and then I've got to give this place a
quick-and-dirty cleaning. Get out as quick as you can.'
'This way, miss!' a guard says, opening the sliding rear door to a small van.
His tone shows impatience. Aiah jumps into the back along with Red and
Trucker. In the instant before the door slams she glances up at the screens
and sees only orange fire.
The van is in motion before the factory door has completely slid open. Aiah
balances herself against a violent turn as the van swings into traffic, its
horn bleating to clear pedestrians out of the way.
The driver looks at Aiah through mirrored shieldglasses. 'Where do you need to
go, miss?' he says. 'We haven't been left instructions.'
'Take me to Rocketman trackline station,' she says.
'I don't know where that is. I need directions.'
Aiah makes her way forward and slides into the passenger seat. In the rearview
mirror she can see two other vehicles in convoy behind. Startled pedestrians
are jumping out of the way of the vehicles.
'How are you people getting out?' she asks.
'InterMetropolitan Highway,' the driver says. 'We'll be out of Jaspeer in less
than ninety minutes, traffic willing.'
Aiah stares at a flash in the rearview mirror, a bloom of orange and black.
Her heart gives a cry of anguish.
'The factory!' she says. 'It's on fire!'
The driver gives her another expressionless look. 'When mages clean,' he says,
'they clean.'
09:00.
New Central Line to Mudki Station. Mudki is huge, and Aiah makes a point of
wandering through a lot of it, making it difficult for any plasm hound to
trace exactly where she intends to go. She buys fresh bread and rolls from a
vendor, then takes the Red Line home.
10:44.
Aiah walks through the door of Loeno Towers. She had hoped to enter unseen but
the doorman not the one she'd taken to the chromo smiles and opens the
door for her. She offers him a roll and tells him she'd gone out for breakfast
supplies.
In her apartment she depolarizes the windows to full light, makes breakfast
and watches the video news. A new military government in Caraqui, she hears,
much fighting and loss of life. A burning aeroplane crashed in a crowded
residential area of Makdar, creating an explosion and fire that killed over
160 people. A punctured airship had draped itself over several buildings in a
district of Liri-Domei, but no one has been injured. An old factory building
on fire on 1190th Street, the neighborhood threatened, no deaths reported.
Scarcely tasting it, Aiah eats slice after slice of the bread. She's never
been hungrier in her life.
She wonders if Aldemar made it out of the factory. She doesn't see how.
13:02.
The hourly news broadcast shows Caraqui's new government, little Drumbeth in a
fresh uniform, Parq in full clerical regalia, red and gold, wearing the Mask
of Awe that demonstrates he's acting in his official capacity as head of the
Dalavites. Apparently he joined the winning side in time. A third figure in
the triumvirate is a spare, disdainful civilian she's never heard of, a
journalist described as a 'leading dissident'.
All the cameras are on Constantine, though, looming behind the three in his
long snakeskin coat. Sorya stands next to him, a self-satisfied smile on her
face.
And standing on the other side of Constantine is Aldemar, her face neatly made
up, eyes gazing complacently at the cameras from under her level bangs. Aiah
stares and wonders how she escaped from the factory that she herself had set
on fire, let alone got to a Caraqui still in the midst of a revolution.
Teleportation, she thinks. The rarest and most dangerous of mage skills.
Aldemar, it would seem, is a much better mage than even her chromos ever made
out.
Almost all the journalists' questions are addressed to Constantine. 'This is
not my moment,' he finally says, 'but Caraqui's, a metropolis that has been
rescued from generations of government by bandits. Please address your
questions to Colonel Drumbeth.'
This, Aiah comforts herself, is her responsibility as well.
2J.20.
A feather touch in Aiah's mind, a stimulation of the senses the scent of
soft leather, musk, a deep voice that speaks gently to the inner ear.
Precious Lady, can you hear me?
Aiah touches* her throat and sits down suddenly on her unmade bed.
Yes. Yes, I can hear.
-1 wish to thank you. Aldemar says that you did very well today. You were
right to divert plasm to the Martyrs' Canal, I was too close to the fighting
to realize that.
There is a lump in Aiah's throat.
That boy. He died.
You were not responsible for that. He overestimated his own abilities.
So many others must have died.
Constantine's tone is matter-of-fact.
Yes, certainly. But compared to what happened in
Cheloki, I think we got off lightly.
Aiah cannot entirely find ease in this thought. Constantine continues.
- You were brave and most resourceful, he sends. I wish
to give you a reward if this can be done safely. There will
be money in a bank account in Gunalaht, and I will send
you the numbers and a chop when it's safe. Those people who lost their homes,
Aiah sighs. Take care of them first.
-
- Yes. Yes. I am, finally, in a position to do that.
-
A phantom hand seems to stroke Aiah's hair. Constan-tine's scent rises in her
nostrils.
- Farewell, brave Lady, he sends. I will not forget your
brightness. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]