House of Reeds

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 KГ¤rrhГ¶k 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.

Gemmilsky had not stinted with furnishings or ornamentation in his house. The master bedroom possessed magnificent doors of dark red ruhel wood inlaid with pearl and jade. At the moment, both were closed, though the prince expected one of his servants to arrive at any moment with a fresh bottle of vodka. 'Sergeant? Is something -'

Dawd moved, one forearm slamming the prince back, sweeping Tezozуmoc behind him. In the same motion, a flat Webley Bulldog sprang into his hand.

The doors burst open, crashing into the marble-covered walls on either side, porcelain doorknobs shattering, and three Jehanan in Gandarian livery rushed in. The lead native twisted from the waist, broad shoulders powering a lohaja-wood machete straight at the Skawtsman's head. Dawd ducked inside the blow, jammed the pistol into the charging creature's gaping mouth and pulled the trigger twice. The blast was muffled by the Jehanan's snout, but the shock-pellets blew out the back of his cranial cavity, spraying a cloud of broken bone and blood and bits of scale through the door. The jaws, abruptly severed from central control, spasmed shut and Dawd grunted, feeling needle-sharp teeth shear through the cuff of his jacket and shatter on the combatskin beneath.

Tezozуmoc screamed in fear, bounced off the bed, and flung himself towards the bathroom. One of the Jehanan assassins hurled a short-bladed spear overhand, missed the prince by a scale, and the ceramic blade punched straight through the light wood of the door as it slammed shut.

Dawd wrenched his caught arm sideways, dragging the still-twitching corpse of the Jehanan into the path of the next assailant, who stabbed under the falling body with a spear. The Skawtsman skipped back, barely avoiding taking a blow to the inside of his thigh, twisted his hand inside the mouth and fired three times in quick succession. Highex pellets shredded the rest of the skull and stitched across the spearman's chest with a rippling series of explosions. Chunks of scale and ligament spattered across the dresser and a heavy antique mirror, and drenched the window drapes. The Jehanan flew backwards into a shattered wardrobe and then crumpled slowly to the floor.

With the left jaw and skull torn away, Dawd wrenched his arm free. He started to spin to face the last Jehanan, but a machete slammed into his shoulder as he moved. The stroke drove the Skawtsman to the floor though the combatskin stiffened, absorbing the impact and spreading the blow across his entire upper body. His boots and outstretched hand lost traction in the spilled intestines of the second assassin and he fell backwards.

The last assassin sprang over the corpse, a whistling shriek on leathery lips. The Skawtsman twisted up, pistol centering on the leaping creature's chest, finger squeezing the Bulldog's trigger – and the magazine whined emptily. A pair of enormous, clawed feet crashed down on carpet as Dawd rolled to the side and was up in one seamless motion.

The Jehanan spun, slashing with the machete, and his turning jaw was met by a combatskin-enhanced sidekick. Metal-cleated combat boot smashed into the creature's eye, splitting the fine scales, and the Jehanan staggered back, one long-fingered hand raised to shield his wound. With a fraction of a second to find balance,