Event Horizon (Hellgate) (45 page)

The last time they had seen him was at Vidal’s memorial on Elstrom StarCity. Marin leaned toward Travers for a better view as the man stepped up between the banks of flowers to the rostrum, and then he glanced down at Elaine Osman. Smug was an understatement. The First Lady was gracious – self-centered, elegant, arrogant, radiant, superficial. She had written herself into history, and she knew it.

Center stage, Rob Prendergast looked up toward the balcony; his silver-shot head lifted in her direction and he gave her a faint smile, a nod, as he rested both hands on the rostrum. The glowbots clustered around, casting an even, pearly glow around him, and the audience held its collective breath. Most people here tonight were senators, counsellors, educators, public representatives, senior officers from Tactical, Fire Control, Medevac. They would have been on a two-hour alert for months now, Marin thought; and they were reveling in the showmanship. The President had walked out onto the stage with one minute to spare before midnight, so the words would be spoken – live, before the cosmos – as midnight struck.

By contrast, the declaration of sovereignty on Velcastra was subdued. It was made via CNS and CityNet, with a modest vid Robert Chandra Liang had recorded in his study at home, just a few hours before. None of which was good enough for Prendergast. He took center stage like a veteran actor, spread his arms wide, and in the rich, round tones of a Jagrethean accent which seemed a little exaggerated tonight he said,

“Ladies and gentleman, it is my honor and my privilege, on behalf of the government and the people of this star system, to proclaim the sovereignty of the Celestial Territory of Jagreth, and to transmit this Proclamation without delay or ambiguity to the Deep Sky, and to the homeworlds of the Terran Confederation. Effective immediately, the former Colony of Jagreth shall be recognized as the Federal Republic of Jagreth, a charter member system of the Nine Worlds Commonwealth of the Deep Sky.”

An ovation erupted. Two thousand people were on their feet, shouting and cheering like the most unruly supporters at an aeroball grand final. “And it’s official,” Travers said under the din. “Break out the champagne.”

The party would be starting within minutes, and even Marin could not resist a feeling of satisfaction. Technically it had all been said as midnight clicked over into the new day, but they might have known Prendergast would hold onto the stage as long as he could. He held up both hands for order, and the speech began. Marin sighed and settled more deeply into the chair to listen.

He spoke well, the speech was quite inspirational, and he had committed enough of it to memory to get through with only a few references to the prompter. Most of it was rhetoric; a lot more was self-aggrandisement, as if Prendergast himself had singlehandedly steered Jagreth to liberty, and this colony was leading the whole Deep Sky into freedom from the ‘overbearing tyranny of a mother world too distant and too preoccupied with wealth and genetic purity to heed the cries for help of daughter worlds which, long-since grown to maturity, are themselves in need of succor.’

“Ouch,” Travers whispered. “That’s…”

“Florid,” Marin agreed. “Verbose. Accurate enough, I suppose.” He frowned as Prendergast went on, speaking next of The Weapon.

What he could disclose here was little; in fact, what Prendergast knew of the Zunshu tech was only the fragment Harrison Shapiro had given him. Clever scriptwriting wove it into a statement about the colony’s security, of people who had ‘no cause for a moment of fear, since Jagreth is defended as completely, as diligently, as Velcastra.’

Eventually even Rob Prendergast ran out of steam. The speech ended with another ovation and as he returned backstage, through scarlet curtains which swished around him, the glowbots scattered themselves for the concert. The curtains reopened on a choir; the anthem was sung again; divas took the stage with a medley of local music, all more or less patriotic. With attention on the performance, Prendergast was able to join his entourage in the balcony without incident.

After forty interminable minutes the company took an intermission. With a gracious smile Shapiro went out to the salon. Prendergast and Osman followed, security personnel surrounding them. Travers and Marin stalked on the fringe of the squad, and Marin was listening to comm from the
Wastrel
now.

“We must be leaving,” Shapiro said for the third time as champagne was pressed into his hand. “There’s no more I can do here, Mr. President, and I’m sure the festivities will continue for a week.”

“Or until the
London
battle group drops out,” Travers muttered archly.

Madame Osman made regretful faces. “Oh, General, must you go so soon? There’s so much you could see of this world.”

“Another time, ma’am,” he promised. “It’ll be a great pleasure to return here in a year or two, as a free man visiting a free world for no better reason than a vacation.”

She touched his arm. “See that you do, General.”

“You’ll be our guest,” Prendergast added. “Elaine and I can show you a Jagreth the tourists don’t even know exists.”

“I look forward to it.” Shapiro took one sip of the champagne and passed the flute to a waiter. “For the moment, you’ll have to forgive me. The sovereignty of Jagreth is
one
of the concerns of the Deep Sky. As you said yourself, Mr. President, you’re well defended, you’ve nothing to fear … and I remain a soldier on assignment.”

Travers leaned closer to Marin and dropped his voice. “Sounds like the official appeal to be rescued.”

“So rescue us,” Jon Kim said grimly.

“
Wastrel
Ops.” Marin touched his combug. “We’re coming back up. Can you groundscan the area?”

And Mick Vidal himself: “We’re too far out, Curtis, but we’re getting the feed from Chesterfield. Unless they’re a pack of rank amateurs – which they’re not – you’re clear.”

Both Travers and Kim had heard. They materialized at Shapiro’s side and Marin watched as Kim whispered, close to Shapiro’s left ear. Whatever he murmured, Marin never knew, but the general dropped a crisp half bow before Osman and Prendergast and said,

“And now, I really
must
leave you.” He offered his hand. “Until we meet again, Mr. President … madame.”

Prendergast took his hand formally while Kim signaled the security detail. They formed up smartly, an escort of six blue-suits which swept the way to a private elevator, and an executive space on the roof’s air park. Two Kotaro-Fuente executive aircraft – big, armored, lightly armed – had transported the president’s party; one was returning to Chesterfield House now while the other stood under guard in a ring of floodlighting, beneath a sky that was rapidly lowering, promising rain.

As he slid into the seat behind the pilot Marin dug for the parking chit for the
Grassetto
, and presented it to the copilot. “That’s your car – the black Rand. We signed it out this afternoon.” He ran up the harness as Shapiro and Kim settled into seats directly behind; Travers was last in, before the side hatch rumbled shut and locked.

Lift engines thundered, but in the cab all he felt was a slight vibration as the plane fell upward into the night sky. Behind Shapiro and Kim, Travers and a Jagreth Secret Service agent talked quietly while the others were silent, listening to the
Wastrel
. The flight back to the old colonial governor’s residence was a matter of minutes. The mansion stood in a lake of light; the party had spilled out onto the lawns, and the Capricorn was already remote-starting as Etienne took control of it.

A gunship beat up from Chesterfield LZ and hovered over the gardens, low enough to thrash the trees with the downdraft of powerful repulsion, while Shapiro and Kim transferred to the Capricorn. The cabin lights had already dimmed in preparation for launch as Travers slid into the pilot seat. Etienne passed control to him and he skimmed the instruments as harness buckles rasped.

The first rain began to spatter the canopies as the side hatch slammed. At last, Shapiro issued an eloquent groan. “Thank gods we’re out of there. Rob Prendergast could talk the hind-end off a mule.”

“So long as he can hold the system together.” Marin took a cursory glance over the instruments. “Jagretheans do like their rhetoric – and Prendergast’s the kind of gas-bag who puts on a good show. Hatches to flight mode, armed and checked. Any time, Neil.”

The Capricorn lifted with a subtle Arago storm and a muted roar of engines as Shapiro sank back into the same seat he had taken on the flight down. He shrugged out of the dress jacket before running up the harness. “When did I turn into some bloody politician? Thirty-odd years, I was a career officer, an old Hellgate hand.”

“You still are.” Kim buckled down and handed him a water bottle. “It’s the reason the likes of Prendergast get under your skin like glass powder. Trust me, Harry, I know politicians, and you’re not one. Don’t let them turn you into one.”

Shapiro took a long drink. “I’m sorry. I’ve talked myself hoarse. I tried everything I knew to get us out of there without me having to show my face at the theater, but the President wouldn’t hear a word of it. Apparently, archival footage was being recorded. It’s all a matter of posterity. At one point he offered to animate a digitoid of me, to add me to the scene, if I declined to be there in person. Well, I’d rather be in charge of how I smile, and when, and who at, if this footage will be dug out of the archives in a thousand years’ time!”

“Like it or not, you’d been cast in Prendergast’s extravaganza,” Marin said with wry humor. “
Wastrel
101 to JS-flight.”

“101, this is Jagreth Security 25.” A woman’s voice, clipped and terse. “We will escort you to orbit. A departure flightpath has been transmitted. Please confirm.”

“We have it,” Travers acknowledged. “We’re on your wing, JS-25.”

The gunship turned its blunt nose up and the engines began to hammer. The Capricorn lifted with it, no more than fifty meters from the blunt, stubby starboard wing, and Marin settled back to watch the lidar. A yawn ambushed him, and he looked sidelong at Travers.

“Tired?” Travers did not sound surprised. “The rigmarole at the opera house was better than a handful of tranks.”

“Tired enough,” Marin said easily. “They didn’t need us down here. Chesterfield Control had a stranglehold on the whole thing.”

“Occasionally it’s nice to
not
be needed.” Travers handed the Capricorn to the automatics. “
Wastrel
tracking just picked us up.” He swiveled the seat toward Marin and stretched out his legs. “I like this place.”

“Boring,” Marin said doubtfully.

But Travers only shrugged. “There’s times when you can use a little boring. I could live here.”

“After.” Marin gestured vaguely.

“After,” Travers agreed. “It won’t be long before it’s all history. Timing, isn’t it? The
London
should be neutralized right here. Soon. Two days from now, Alec Tarrant makes the big declaration speech on Omaru … and if Fleet can scrape together some kind of a ragtag battle group to launch a punitive mission on Omaru, good luck to them.”

Shapiro’s head shook slowly. “Even Fleet wouldn’t risk sending a group scratched together from odds and sods into Omaru. Not after the loss at Jagreth.”

“Which hasn’t happened yet,” Kim said sharply.

Marin turned his seat to look back into the body of the plane. “You have doubts?” He lifted a brow at Travers and adjusted his combug. “
Wastrel
Ops – Etienne, give me a patch to the
Mako
.”

“Hold,” the AI responded. “The
Mako
is close to the orbit of
Nysos
. Signal lag is three seconds.”

And then Sergei van Donne: “Who is this, Curtis Marin?”

“On our way back to the
Wastrel
… Sergei, confirm status of the
weapon
.”

The signal lag dragged before van Donne demanded, “You want to know if the mines are where they ought to be, doing what they’re supposed to do? What is it with you people? Jazinsky just had us run a full remote diagnostic on the whole swarm – suddenly you don’t trust them? Or is it me and the boys you don’t trust? I’m wounded. I could be in a four-posted bed in Sanmarco, with the best cognac on ice and enough caviar to take a bath in.”