she still had nearly fifty shots left. There wouldn’t be nearly that many staff on duty
tonight, which meant she could take out everyone inside. She blessed the fact that the
stun-gun was such a humane weapon-she could use it indiscriminately, without having to
make instant decisions about guilt or innocence, and there would be no permanent
after-effects if her move was wrong.
She passed through the gates without stopping and moved into the palace itself. Racing
down the long, cold hallways she shot at everyone she met with pinpoint accuracy,
leaving a trail of unconscious bodies in her wake.
She stormed through every room in the enormous palace, clearing it of potential foes,
until at last she came to the Marchioness’s boudoir.
The hereditary ruler oh Vesa was lying in her enormous plush bed eating what must have
been for her a light snack-a small capon, a plate of vegetables and a goblet of white
wine. So quickly and quietly had Yvette moved through the palace that the Marchioness
had had no warning of this invasion. She looked up, startled, then belatedly recognized
Yvette as the woman she’d spoken to earlier that day. “You!” she exclaimed. “What are
you doing here? What gave you the audacity. . . ?.
Yvette at first had ignored the fat woman. This was the last room of the palace, and as
yet she had seen no sign of Garst. Her eyes quickly swept the room, but there was no
trace of the First Advisor here, either. She turned to the Marchioness Gindri, gun pointed,
and cut off the diatribe. “Where’s Garst?” she demanded.
The Marchioness was quite flustered to have a weapon aimed at her. Nothing like that
had ever happened before. “Why should I tell you?.
“Because if you don’t I’ll give you a shot of nitrobarb that could kill you, and you’ll tell me
anyhow. There’s no use calling for help, I’ve neutralized everyone in the palace. It’s just
you and me.” She gestured menacingly with the stunner. “Now talk.
“He . . . he was here until just a little while ago,” Gindri stammered nervously. “Then he
got a call and he left.
“What was the call about?.
“I don’t . . . don’t know, exactly. Something about a DesPlainian spy being caught or
something. He had to go question him.
Yvette’s heart skipped a beat. That “DesPlainian spy” could only be Jules! She had seen
his message in the newsroll a week ago that he was going down to Chandakha; when
had he returned, and how had he been captured? She had to know. Grabbing the fat,
ugly woman by the shoulders and digging her fingers deeply into the mealy flesh, she
said, “Where did he go to meet them?.
“I don’t . . . wait, I think he said something about the recycling plant. That way, they
wouldn’t have far to go to get rid of the body afterwards, he said.
“How long ago was that?” “Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.
There may still be time, Yvette thought. Looking at her watch, she saw that it would be
more than an hour yet before Kantana arrived With her people. I can’t wait that long, she
decided. Jules’ life may be at stake.
Aloud, she said, “Thanks for your help, even if it was involuntary.” Then she gave the
Marchioness a number four stun, the same as everyone else.
Taking a stylus and pad from her purse, she quickly encoded a message explaining the
situation and where to meet her, then posted the note where Kantana could not miss it
as she entered the palace.
I only hope I won’t be too late, she thought as she waited impatiently for a jit to come by
that she could commandeer to take her to the recycling plant.
CHAPTER 13
The Battle of the Recycling Plant
Consciousness returned slowly to Jules. The first thing he was definitely aware of was a
constriction in his chest, a difficulty in breathing. By reflex he began gasping, but there
was something preventing him from expanding his chest as far as he needed for comfort.
The inside of his mouth was exceedingly dry, as though it had been washed out with
desert sand. His throat was sore, and swallowing was difficult. He winced involuntarily as
he tried gulping the small amount of saliva his glands had produced.
He felt light-headed and dizzy. In fact, his entire body felt light, as though he were
floating in a sea of jelly. As his consciousness drifted in and out, he realized slowly that
he must be either out in space or back on Vesa, where the gravity was far less than on
Chandakha. But for the moment the fact was only of academic interest; his mind was still
too fuzzed over to care about such things.
He tried to open his eyes, but the lids felt glued together. There was light -around him,
though; he could tell from the redness penetrating the membranes. There were sounds
around him, too, voices drifting in and out of some auditory fog, but individual words
utterly failed to register on his brain. He floated in this state of apathy for an
indeterminate time, not caring what happened to him.
He was jolted out of the dreamy state by a band slapping him hard across the right
cheek. The shock was enough to open his eyes and stir up the thought processes in his
brain once more. His vision was blurred and doubled, and it took all the power of his
still-numbed mind to concentrate and focus on his surroundings.
Standing before him was a lanky man whom he belatedly recognized as the man who’d
been lecturing at the warehouse the night he’d spied on them. Behind him were two
dozen other men, equally threatening. There was a tight grin of vengeance on the man’s
face as he stared down at Jules, who found that he was seated on a chair, bound tightly
hand and foot. “Well,” the man’s voice boomed in Jules’ ears, “so you’ve finally come out
of it, have you?.
Jules was still too dazed to reply. His tongue lay like a lump of lead in his mouth, refusing
to move. As the fog began to lift from his senses, he became aware of the foul odor in
the air. It seemed a mixture of every disgusting smell known to man, from the aroma of
fecal matter through the stench of decaying meat. Jules tried closing his nostrils, an
impossible feat, and finally had to settle for breathing through his mouth as much as
possible.
The man stood over Jules and slapped him again, this time with the other hand. He hit
with such force that it literally made Jules’ teeth rattle inside his mouth. Jules found his
temper rising and had to force himself to keep it under control. “It’s not for nothing that
the phrase `losing your head’ is equivalent to ‘losing your temper’,” he remembered his
father telling him. A man blinded by rage could miss an opportunity that a calmer man
would spot. I should be thankful he’s hitting me, Jules thought. He’s bringing me out of the
stupor a lot faster, and that’s to my advantage.
He tried to maintain the glazed look on his face a little while longer, though, as he stared
about the rest of the room. It was big, easily one of the largest chambers he’d ever
seen. The ceiling was literally covered with pipes of various diameters, some of which
went out through holes in the wall to other rooms, and others of which were connected to
the enormous vats that stood like giant sentinels scattered about the floor. The smallest
of the vats was easily five meters tall and eight meters in diameter, and there were
others that absolutely dwarfed it in size. Metal ladders ran up and down the lengths of
these vats, and catwalks encircled the tops. And everywhere was the disgusting stench
of death and decay.
“You’ve got a lot to answer for, you know,” the man in front of Jules said, forcing the
DesPlainian to return his attention to immediate concerns. “We’ve had to waste a lot of
our time and energy trying to find you. We didn’t like that.
Jules’ tongue was feeling less fuzzy now, and he could attempt to talk. “If I’d known,” he
slurred, “I’d have left my business card.
His inquisitor hit him again, but this time Jules was expecting it and was able to turn his
head with the blow to minimize its effect. “Insolence will not be excused,” the man said
harshly. “I will give you your due, however. You fought quite well. And no one has ever
been able to infiltrate our training camp before. You must have had help-very highly
placed help.
Jules had to get his questioner off that train of thought. If that idea were followed to its
logical conclusion, it would be obvious that Jules was working for SOTE. Only the