The Chosen

be pitchforked into it right away.'

The survivors of Heinrich's regiment had been pulled into reserve, not completely out of action, but things would have to take a decided turn for the worse before they were put back into the line any time soon. More than a third of the roster had died blocking the Imperial breakout for those crucial hours, and as many again were wounded. The survivors were billeted now in the grounds of a nobleman's country estate; they could see the smoke-shadowed buildings of Ciano in the distance to the east. Heinrich had spent the last couple of days rounding up supplies for the celebration that bellowed and sprawled across the gardens: oxen and whole pigs roasted on spits, barrels stood at the ends of tables heaped with food. A roar went up from the troops-the male majority, at least-as a crowd of women were herded through the gates.

Jeffrey averted his eyes and ignored the screams. Nothing he could do, nothing at all. . for now. Heinrich beamed indulgently down at the scene below the terrace and bit the last meat off the turkey drumstick in his hand.

'They've earned a little rest,' he said, idly stroking the hip of the naked girl who poured his glass full again. 'Did damned well.'

The rest of the surviving officers were grouped around the tables on the balustraded terrace, paying serious attention to the feast the villa's staff had prepared for the new overlords. Most Chosen ate rather sparingly at home; in the food-poor Land red meat was a luxury except for the wealthiest among the upper caste. Jeffrey remembered John telling him how the Friday pork roast was the high point of the week, and that was for an up- and-coming general's family. Now that they had the biggest area of rich farmland on Visager under their control, the Chosen were making up for lost time.

The thought made the food taste a little better. Maybe they'll get soft.

probability 87 % ±3, defining 'soft' as significantly reduced militechnic functionality, Center supplied.

After more than a decade, Jeffrey could sense overtones of meaning in the words, even though they seemed machined out of thought the way engine parts were lathed from bar stock.

But? he supplied.

significant reduction would require 7 generations, plus or minus-

Never mind.

Heinrich tore off another drumstick and pulled the girl into his lap. 'Victory, it is wonderful!' he said.

'Yeah,' Jeffrey Farr replied. It will be.

* * *

'Are you sure this is a good idea?' Lola asked, ripping up the last of her petticoat.

'No,' Pia said. 'But the only other thing I can think of is to wait here for the Chosen. My Giovanni will come- but look at that out there!'

Ciano was the largest city in the world; for centuries, it had been the capital of the world, when the Universal Empire had been what its name claimed for it, leading humanity on Visager back from the Fall. Now it was dying, and mostly by its own hand.

* * *

'We've gotta find some broad in this?' Goms said.

Probably more crowded a couple of hours ago, John thought.

'Jesus,' the marine finished, coughing in the thick air, a compound of smoke and explosion-powdered brick and stone.

'Back! Back!' the driver shouted, as half a dozen men in Imperial uniforms rushed towards the car.

They ignored him, if they heard at all; their faces had the fixed, carved-wood look of utter desperation sighting a chance of survival. A marine raised his rifle, cursed, lowered it again.

'If they get to the car, we're all dead,' John said.

'He's right,' Harry said. 'Shit. .'

The rifle blasted uncomfortably close to John's ear. He stood motionless, his hand resting on the top of the windscreen. It had been a warning shot; he could hear the sick whine of the ricochet, see the bright momentary spark where jacketed metal hit the cobblestones. The Imperials ignored it. More from the milling crowd were following; none of them looked to be armed-the Imperial army had regarded this as the ultimate rear area until a day or two ago-but there were a lot of them, all convinced that the car represented their chance to get out. They probably weren't thinking much beyond that.

'Damn,' the marine said softly, and worked the bolt.

'Five rounds rapid!' Corporal Wilton said.

The marines had been waiting with their second finger on the trigger and their index lying under the bolt. BAM and five rounds blasted out. Click and the index finger flipped up the rear-mounted bolt handle of the rifles. Spring tension shot the bolt back halfway through its cycle as soon as the turning bolt released the locking lugs; a quick pull back and the shell was ejected; a slap with the palm of the hand and chick-Chack! the next round was in. Well-trained men could fire twelve aimed rounds a minute that way, and all the marines had 'marksman' flashes on their shoulders.

Face frozen, John watched the first Imperial double over like a man punched in the belly-even at point-blank range the marines were aiming for the center of mass, as they'd been taught. The Imperial slumped forward and slid facedown, blood flowing over the cobbles. The shots cracked, quick careful firing with a half-second pause to aim. He didn't have to order cease-fire when the survivors turned and ran.

Wilton pulled the bolt of his rifle back and pushed a five-round stripper clip into the magazine with his thumb. The zinc strip that had held the cartridges tinkled against the side of the car. The crowd surged away from the car, milling aimlessly.

John didn't think anyone else would try to steal it for a while. It stood in one of the narrower laneways leading into the big plaza that stood before the train station; the station building itself wasn't burning. . yet. . but a stick of bombs had left a series of craters across the plaza, leading towards the twenty-meter high columns of the facade like an arrow on a map. The plaza had been crowded with mule- and horse-drawn wagons and ambulances, supply vehicles, even a few powered staff cars.

Most of the vehicles were abandoned, some burning or overturned. Wounded animals screamed, their voices shrill over the calling of hundreds-thousands-from within the great building, adding the last touch of hell. Wounded men were pouring out of the tall blushwood portals and out into the square, all of them who could move. Or could stagger along grasping at the walls, or support each other, or crawl. The stink of death and gangrene came with them in waves, strong enough that even a few of the marines gagged at it.

'Sir,' Henry said, 'we'd never have made it down if we'd left half an hour later. And there's no way in hell we're going to drive back to the embassy.'

'No,' John said, smiling slightly as he checked his pistol and then slid it back into the shoulder-holster under his frock coat. 'But I don't think we'll have much of a problem finding my wife.'

He nodded towards the left-hand tower. Someone on top had strung two strips of brightly colored cloth from corner windows to the middle of the front facing, and another straight down from the point at which they met. Together they formed an arrow-›, pointing upward at the tower-top. He took his binoculars out of the dashboard compartment and focused on the tiny figure waving at the apex of the signal.

'Let's go,' he said.

* * *

The driver cleared his throat. John released Pia and stepped back; even then, in that charnel house of a place, the Marines were grinning. Pia blushed and tucked strands of hair back under her snood.

'Sir,' Harry said, 'We're not going to get back to the embassy.'

'No, we have to get out of the city entirely,' John said thoughtfully.

They were in one of the loading bays of the station; fewer bodies here, fewer of the moaning, fevered wounded. None of the Marines was what you'd call squeamish-they'd all seen action in the Southern Islands-but several of them were looking pale. So did Pia's friend; a couple of the troopers were courteously handing her safety pins to help fasten up her ripped dress.

'Sure you're all right?' John asked again.

'As right as can be,' Pia said stoutly. 'We cannot go to the embassy?'

John shook his head. 'The fires are out of control, and there's fighting in the streets. The Chosen are close to the western end of the city, too.'