body, could pursue other activities while the debate raged. One of which was to monitor the squad-level radio traffi?c generated by the off-planet marines assigned to track him down. The jarheads weren’t familiar with Algeron, or the Naa people, which was why no one other than a few juveniles would agree to speak with them. Not that Jakov and Wilmot had much choice where troops were concerned, since Booly was popular with his legionnaires, who were already starting to grow restive.
Chien-Chu’s thoughts were interrupted as the baker spoke. “The council agrees that there is truth in what you say. But what would you have us do? The fort has withstood countless attacks.”
“I agree,” the cyborg answered. “An attack on Fort Camerone would be pointless. “No, the real opportunity is to recruit some ex-legionnaires and smuggle them inside. Once within the walls, they will go down to the pit and free General Booly. It’s my opinion that both the prisoners and the Legion will support him. Jakov will be forced to plead his case in the Senate, and once all of the facts are made known to them, I believe the senators will make the right decision.”
“But how?” the baker asked for the second time. “How will we get the ex-legionnaires inside the fort?”
“That’s a good question,” Chien-Chu answered, as he transferred his gaze from the baker to the undertaker. “Tell me, Citizen Deepdig, how many bodies do you remove from the fort each day?”
The Naa frowned. “Three or four on average . . . Mostly from the hospital.”
“And once the bodies have been buried, what happens next?”
“My number two son takes replacement coffi?ns back inside,” Deepdig answered. “They are custom-made to Legion specifi?cations and . . .”
The undertaker paused at that point, his face lit up with understanding, and the council member smiled.
“You are clever human—I’ll say that for you.”
The rest of the council chuckled, food was summoned, and the real work began.
15.
A single look at the enemy’s defenses is more valuable than a thousand additional warriors.
THE THRAKI PLANET STARFALL (PREVIOUSLY ZYNIG-47) The Thrakies were an industrious people, and during the relatively short period of time they had been in control of Starfall, entire cities had been constructed. Cities in which most Thrakies chose to live after spending generations on tightly packed ark ships. But some of the more adventurous citizens had begun to construct vacation homes in the surrounding countryside. A trend Ex-ambassador Alway Orno had taken advantage of by renting a small house, which subsequent to his death, the Egg Orno was forced to live in.
Though pleasant by Thraki standards, it was terribly isolated, located mostly above ground, and uncomfortable. Everywhere the Egg Orno looked she saw angles instead of curves, stairs where ramps should have been, and ceilings that were far too low. In fact it was only in the basement, where Alway’s presence could still be felt, that the female felt halfway comfortable.
It was a large room, which the ex-ambassador had apparently prepared with her comfort in mind and clearly preferred himself. As the Ramanthian prepared to sort through her mate’s belongings, she was still in the process of recovering from the gunshot wound and ensuing surgery. The fact that she had survived the process was something of a miracle given the fact that the Thraki surgeons weren’t all that familiar with Ramanthian physiology. But, thanks to self-programming nano injected into the wound, she continued to recover.
Of course, Alway deserved most of the credit for saving her life. By placing his body in front of hers, the functionary had absorbed most of the bullet’s force. The female remembered the shock of the impact, a moment of free fall, and a profound darkness that rose to wrap her in its arms. All of which led the assassins to believe that she was dead.
But the Egg Orno wasn’t dead, even though at fi?rst she wished she was and contemplated suicide immediately after the operation. But as time passed, her mood changed. It had been stupid to believe that she could escape Hive undetected. The aristocrat knew that now. Both Chancellor Ubatha and the Queen had been determined to fi? nd Alway and kill him. With that realization came a deep and abiding anger. And a desire for revenge.
But how? The Egg Orno was not only ill, but without friends and vulnerable to a second assassination attempt. Because even though Alway was dead, there was no way to know how vindictive the Queen would be. That didn’t matter, though, not anymore, which was why the female was determined to go through her mate’s belongings no matter how painful the process might be. Because if the ex-diplomat had left anything useful behind, it was likely to be there among his personal effects.
The next couple of hours were spent going through Alway’s computer fi?les plus piles of printed documents. It seemed like a meaningless mishmash of material at fi?rst, until the Egg Orno came across a handwritten note that referred to “. . . the fi?rst payment from the Confederacy,”
plus a Thraki bank statement dated the next day, and a variety of other documents related to a rim world occupied by Ramanthian expatriates. Was that where Alway planned to take her? Yes, it seemed likely.
But the discoveries raised as many questions as they answered. Why would the Confederacy give money to her mate, the same individual who had caused them such grief? There had to be a reason. A good reason. And, if
“the fi?rst payment” had been received, then where was the second? Or the third? Those questions and more plagued the Ramanthian as she worked to knit all of the available facts into a coherent pattern. Unfortunately, she had very little to show for it once the process was over. So the Egg Orno went back and reviewed all the fi?les for a second time just in case something important had escaped her. But to no avail.
That left the aristocrat with nothing to do but rummage through her mate’s clothes in case something of value had been left in one of his voluminous pockets. But that search came up empty as well. So the female was busy refolding the garments when one of them caught her interest. The robe consisted of a rich shimmery cloth, which if she remembered correctly, was actually a photosensitive fabric. The ex-ambassador was not only proud of the device—but had demonstrated it for her on more than one occasion. The Egg Orno felt a tingle of anticipation as she searched for the ribbonlike connector. What images, if any, were stored in the robe she wondered? A boring meeting most likely. But even if she couldn’t see Alway, she’d be able to hear him.
