The public address announced that a ferry would soon be arriving on track six. Shore hands on the track to Kris’s left readied it for an arrival.
To Kris’s right, a ferry stood, its receiving hatches wide open. Its captain stood in the middle of the gangway, eyes downcast, avoiding any eye contact with Ron, Kris . . . or the glaring headsman, much less the coiled up and hissing snake with only thin glass between its fangs and his neck.
No questions were asked. With a wave from Ron, the ferry skipper was dismissed to get his vessel moving post-haste.
Ron led the way to an opulent VIP lounge where they could relax while nude Iteeche saw to their every need. At least they did for every wealthy Iteeche. Kris and Jack settled for a glass of water that tasted strongly of salt and other things Kris didn’t want to think too much about.
NELLY, NOTE TO MAINTENANCE STAFF. INSTALL OUR OWN FILTRATION SYSTEM FOR THE WATER SUPPLY AT OUR NEW, FANCY PALACE.
ALREADY ON IT, KRIS.
Jack oversaw several Gunnies seeing to it that all his Marines were cared for. That caused a bit of a stir, but even Iteeche snobs can’t stand before a Gunny’s glare. He even had a private take a water bag to the bearers. They seemed startled by the attention, but definitely guzzled down the offered drink.
With that covered, Kris turned to face Ron. “Someone doesn’t want me or us to meet the Emperor, at least not at the scheduled time.”
“I have also come to that conclusion. I have been in touch with my Eminent Chooser and explained our morning. He is making arrangements. Assuming our ferry is not shot out of the sky, there will be no further surprises.”
Kris heard a hard gulp from Jack at the “shot out of the sky” remark. She turned to see him shaking his head. “Maybe we ought to keep our options more fluid next time we land. Say flip a coin between the beanstalk or a lander.”
“It is forbidden to use a lander in the Imperial Presence,” Ron said. “Any that come even close would be shot down. The cause for this edict is lost in the distant past, but one needs little imagination to see why.”
Kris had Nelly call up a holographic map of where they were headed. The Imperial Precincts was a huge oval that dominated the center of a massive city. Inside its moated walls were gardens, even a small forest. Delicate spires shot up hundreds of stories while other structures were low buildings with roofs that looked ready to fly away.
Radiating out from the walled precincts were broad, straight boulevards. Connecting them were some streets that twisted in gentle curves around parks and huge spiraling skyscrapers. Not everywhere was so spacious. Other parts of town were packed cheek to jowl, with a jumble of buildings only a few stories high serviced by much narrower roads and alleys.
JACK, SOMETHING TELLS ME THAT THEY DON’T HAVE VERY STRONG ZONING LAWS.
OR THEY’VE DONE URBAN RENEWAL HERE, BUT NOT THERE, KRIS. KIND OF LIKE IF YOU HAVE A WAR HERE, BUT NOT THERE.
“Once we have a base at the Red Coral Palace,” Jack said, “we’ll have to make sure to be more random about which door we leave from and what routes we travel by.” Today, however, it looked to be just a short zig from the space elevator to a main boulevard, then straight up it to the Imperial Palace. That did not look good to Kris.
“Tell me, does your Eminent Chooser have any suggestion as to who has been playing with our schedule and what they might do once we’re down there?”
Ron took a long drink of amber liquid from a tall beaker, then chose from among a bowl of squiggly things with four pinchers. He munched his choice slowly before admitting, “There are too many swimmers in the water to choose between for me to answer your question. Do you humans not have complicated circumstances when change is in the wind?”
“Yes. We invented the word Byzantine for just such cases. Why do you think I’m saddled with several boat-loads of competing diplomats and merchants?” Kris admitted.
As the ferry approached the landing, Kris again boarded her sedan chair. Ron, Kris and Jack were carried to the main exit and allowed the first and most honored place in line. There were other snakes and axe guys in evidence, but none tried to interfere with four platoons of Marines, US or Iteeche.
The ferry came to a smooth stop, the hatches swung open and Kris was carried down the gangway, but only to a waiting car. Once again, she dismounted, now under the watchful eye of an additional battalion of armed Iteeche in magenta and cream uniforms. Their commanders bowed low, likely to Ron and ushered them a six-door, eight-wheeled midnight black vehicle that could easily have passed for a stretched limo anywhere in human space.
Megan and Major Puller joined them to share the forward jump seats with an Imperial Marine and an advisor in green and white.
Around the limo were a fleet of trucks, all eight-wheeled, many of them with weapons bulging from their tops. Some were crimson, others red. Quite a few were magenta and cream. Others looked a bit long on the tooth and in need of painting. It was into one of those that Kris’s porters and sedan chairs were loaded. Gunny sent a fire team to keep a lookout on them.
The other U.S. Marines quickly filled up all the empty truck rigs. In a few cases, they got scrunched in with Iteeche Marines or Roth’s magenta and cream household guards.
In hardly a minute, the sidewalk and car park was empty of uniformed personnel.
“With your permission, Oh Wisely Chosen One,” the Iteeche Marine seated across from Ron said. With a nod from Ron, the motorcade was off.
They wound their way along a wide street, that, for no apparent reason, twisted and turned through a park-like area. There was much less traffic than Kris would have expected on Wardhaven, and much of what there was were small, two or three-wheeled electric scooters. All had a driver, usually naked, and one or two passengers in flowing robes.
There were larger vehicles, many with an axe or a snake for a hood ornament. The central lanes were reserved for them.
The limo drove slowly past one of the red gun trucks pulled over to the side of the road. All hands were out, two kicking four flat tires on one side while the soldiers looked around cautiously.
The rest of the escort turned onto a wide boulevard and the convoy shook out into a series of cordons around her and Ron’s vehicle.
ADMIRAL, YOU KNOW THE WAY THAT I HAVE WITH NETS, Meg said, on Nelly Net.
YOU’VE MENTIONED IT ONCE OR TWICE, LIEUTENANT.
WELL, I SEEM TO BE TRACKING THE ITEECHE COMM NET.
CAN YOU MAKE ANYTHING OF IT?
MY COMPUTER IS TRANSLATING AS FAST AS SHE CAN.
NELLY?
MY DAUGHTER IS PASSING IT ALONG TO ALL OF US, KRIS. WE’RE TRACKING MOST OF IT, I THINK.
AND I SHOUD KNOW THIS, WHY? Kris thought dryly.
THERE SEEMS TO BE SOME SERIOUS ACTION ON THE STREETS AROUND US, ADMIRAL. IT STARTED WHEN THAT VANGUARD RIG BLEW OUT FOUR TIRES. NOT YOUR USUAL COINCIDENCE.
NO, NOT REALLY.
IT’S ESCALATING. SOMEONE BENT SOME SERIOUS METAL CRUNCHING THEIR RIG AGAINST ONE OF THEIR GUN TRUCKS AS IT MADE THE TURN ONTO THIS ROAD. NOW SHOTS HAVE BEEN EXCHANGED.
Kris listened for small arms fire, but there were soft chimes playing in the background inside the limo and she heard nothing else at the moment. Outside, her limo moved along at a reasonable speed surrounded by gun trucks two deep.
A third layer was in the process of being added.
Kris eyed Ron, but he seemed intent on studying the ceiling.
Kris chose to meditate on the ceiling as well.
Her reflections came to an abrupt halt when one of the red trucks ahead took a rocket hit to its middle and rolled over several times before coming to a stop up against a tall, thick tree shading the boulevard. Quickly a dozen Iteeche Marines tumbled out, guns at the ready.
As if it hadn’t happened, the convoy rolled right on by them.
Kris gave Ron a mental count to five, then blurted out. “Why are we not getting off this street?”
“It is the most propitious boulevard to take us to the Imperial Presence,” Ron said, as if that settled everything.
“It’s a predictable path that will get us killed before we get there. Get off it.”
Ron looked dumbfounded.
“Marine,” Kris snapped and Nelly translated into Iteeche, “tell your convoy to follow our movements.”
The Iteeche Marine looked at Kris, then back at Ron and finally at Kris again.
“Do as she says,” Ron snapped.
“Megan, get in the front seat and have the driver get off this road,” Kris ordered, then added as explanation to Ron. “This has worked for us when someone started shooting at us. Go where they aren’t expecting us.”
In the front seat, Megan was issuing orders for a right turn. In front of Kris, the Iteeche Marine was barking orders into a very human looking wrist unit. Kris held on tight as the limo took a hard right, barely missing the escort that had only started to open up space for them to swerve. They sped off the wide boulevard and into a neighborhood crammed with ramshackle buildings of four or five stories that overhung the narrow side street.
One of the trucks with US Marines on board sped past Kris’s rig, taking the lead. More fell in behind her. They did two more hard turns and came to a dead halt.
They’d zoomed out of the shaded narrow lane and onto another broad boulevard. On a grassy knoll across from then, beside a spiraling high rise hulked four track-laying, tank-like vehicles. Their huge guns looked to be aimed right down Kris’s throat.
“Does it work like this for you often?” Ron asked, and if a creature of the ocean could say something dryly, his words were pure salt and sand. “Those green and blue flags they fly tell me they are from my Eminent Choosers worst enemy.”