The Lotus Eaters

would have done anything to hurt their candidate, not when he was expected to run against a 'rabid' conservative Federalist.

Presidential Palace, Ciudad Balboa, Terra Nova

There was firing—all small arms, so far—around the perimeter of the old city enclave. That was the two companies of civil police still loyal to the Rocaberti's. They had the advantage of fighting from buildings but neither the arms nor the training to do so with any long term prospects for success. From the old Palace, the firing seemed to be growing ever closer.

'It's too late, Mr. President,' Pigna said, upon his return. 'None of my units will listen and the few officers I brought into the plot late have either turned or been shot. We've got to get out of here, now. It's all over. We've lost.'

At the word, 'lost,' Barletta, who was present now, put his head in his hands with despair. Can a man have made a greater mistake? he asked himself.

'No' said the President. 'The Taurans will help us. They must. Has there been any word from their general or their Ambassador?' he asked.

An aide answered, hesitantly, 'It seems that the Castilian battalion at Fort Williams has defected and is currently engaged in battling some of the TU commandos at Gatun River. The mechanized troops at the Bridge of the Colombias are probably going to be pulling back to Fort Muddville. And General Janier reports that the Charlemagne is pulling back to the docks at the Dahlgren Naval station and recovering its aircraft.'

The President hesitated. 'Fine. We'll go now. But send the orders to where Carrera and Parilla are being held. I want them and any other prisoners we hold all shot within the hour. They'll not live to laugh over our failure.'

'By sea or by land?' Pigna asked. 'Forget that, stupid question. With the Frog carrier pulling back the other side owns the sea.'

'Yes,' Rocaberti agreed. 'Our only chance of survival is to get to the Taurans. If we can do that, it's even possible that the Federated States might intervene and force them to give us back this much.'

Pigna said nothing, but shook his head.

Rocaberti looked dismally around his ornate office. It was hard, hard, leaving his life, the remnants of his power, and his chance for revenge behind. The rump President waited until the order to kill Carrera and Parilla was transmitted, then left his office for his limousine and safety among the Taurans. Pigna and the Chief of the City's police, along with some few others, followed.

Santa Clara Temporary Detention Facility, Dahlgren Naval Station, Balboa, Terra Nova

Major Rojas, older than most, which explained much, and fatter, which explained even more, was one of the policeman who had remained loyal to the oligarchs when Parilla had won election to the presidency. He looked at a piece of paper slipped into his hand by an underling manning the radio. He looked at it again, crossed himself, and said, aloud, 'Pablo, this is wrong on so many levels I don't know where to begin.'

'Sir?' asked the radio operator, Pablo, who had passed on the message.

'They want me to kill Parilla and Carrera in cold blood. I can't do that. Turn them over in answer to a legitimate extradition order? Sure. Just shoot them like dogs? No.'

'Then what, sir?'

'Then . . . I'm going to try to cut us a deal.'

'A deal?'

'Sure. Why not? He and Parilla are both men of their word. But . . . ummm . . . Pablo, do we still have the guards who worked the two over?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good. Go get a few men and arrest that crew. They might make an adequate sacrificial offering. And after that, see if you can raise someone at the Estado Major to let them know we have their chiefs. Meanwhile, I'm going to see about getting someone's word of honor.'

Three Hundred meters north of the Bridge of the Colombias, Balboa, Terra Nova

'I don't understand it,' Rocaberti said. 'Janier gave me his word that there would be soldiers here to provide us a safe haven and escort if things went to crap. But . . .' He shrugged, eloquently, while gazing in the general direction of a Tauran Union fighting vehicle, legging it trippingly for the demarcation line between the Transitway Area and Balboa proper.

Suddenly the street around the convoy seemed full of soldiers, in the pixilated tiger stripes of the Legion, all armed and looking decidedly dangerous. Their bayoneted rifles aimed steadily at heads and torsos, engines and tires. Perhaps just for emphasis, still other legionaries aimed rocket grenade launchers, or RGLs, at armored limousines.

The forward most of the vehicles in the convoy, not Rocabertis, attempted to run. An RGL armed legionary fired, his rocket impacting on the front windshield. The armor was useless against the directed explosive. That vehicle veered left, crashed into another, and stopped dead, blocking the road.

As the rump president and his staff and collaborators were hustled out and bound with duct tape, three IM-71 helicopters in Legion colors beat through the air overhead, heading in the general direction of Dahlgren Naval Station and Santa Clara.

Santa Clara Temporary Detention Facility, Dahlgren Naval Station, Balboa, Terra Nova