There were two four-story buildings within—wood-sheathed and painted red—and two more domed roofs which the three-meter walls would’ve hidden from ground level. Fencing Master had a good view down into the compound, however.
Mauricia Orichos came out of the Assembly Building, pausing briefly to speak with a man entering. His cape of gossamer fabric shimmered repeatedly up through the spectrum on a three-minute cycle.
The conversation over, Orichos walked purposefully toward Captain Sangrela who was bent over the commo unit on the back of his jeep. His driver was inflating a two-man tent.
“El-Tee?” Learoyd said. “Is that the woman who’s making all the trouble?”
He meant the head of the three dignitaries in white and red, now climbing the steps. “Right,” Huber said, a little surprised that Learoyd had volunteered what amounted to a political observation. “That’s Melinda Riker Grayle.”
Grayle moved with an athleticism that hadn’t come through in the hologram of her haranguing the crowd. Those images must have been taken right here: Grayle speaking from the steps of the Assembly Building to a crowd larger than the one Fencing Master had just scattered.
“But I still shouldn’t shoot her, that’s right?” Learoyd said, his voice troubled.
“Blood and Martyrs!” Huber said. “Negative, don’t shoot her, Learoyd!”
Grayle wasn’t one of those who averted her eyes from the armored vehicles. She noticed Huber’s attention and glared back at him like a bird of prey. Her hair was in short curls. Judging from Grayle’s complexion she’d once been a redhead, but she’d let her hair go naturally gray.
She and her companions—including the escort—stalked through the tall doors of embossed bronze into the Assembly Building. Learoyd sighed and said, “Yeah, that’s what I figured.”
Huber looked at him hard. Nobody but Learoyd would’ve considered shooting the leader of the opposition dead in the middle of the city, with the whole country watching through video links. Nobody but simple-minded Herbert Learoyd; but you know, it might not have been such a bad idea after all. . . .
“Fox Three-six to me ASAP!” Captain Sangrela ordered. Huber glanced over. Beside Sangrela stood Orichos, wearing a gray beret in place of the commo helmet she’d left behind on Fencing Master. She looked very cool and alert: her hands were crossed behind her at the waist. “Six out.”
“No rest for the wicked,” Huber murmured, but he couldn’t say he was sorry for the summons. “Fox, this is Fox Three-six. Sergeant Jellicoe will take acting command of the platoon till I return. Three-six out.”
Huber snugged the sling of his 2-cm weapon, then swung out of the fighting compartment. He balanced for a moment on the bulging plenum chamber before half jumping, half sliding to the ground. The landing was softer than he’d expected because his boots dug into the black loam of what had been a flowerbed.
“You gonna be all right, El-Tee?” Sergeant Tranter asked. Despite the hard run they’d just completed, Tranter managed to look as though he’d stepped off a recruiting poster.
“Sure he is!” said Deseau who’d by contrast be scruffy the day they buried him in an open coffin. Right now you might guess he’d been dragged behind Fencing Master instead of riding in her. “Hey, there’s nobody around this place that the Slammers need to worry about, right?”
“I’ll let you know, Frenchie,” Huber said. He walked toward the captain wearing a grin, wry but genuine.
Now that Huber’s world no longer quivered with the harmonics of the drive fans, he was coming alive again. He guessed he knew how a toad felt when the first rains of autumn allowed it to break out of the summer-baked clay of a water hole.
“Sir?” he said to Sangrela. Huber hadn’t known the captain well before the operation began, but he’d been impressed by what he’d seen thus far. A lot of times infantry officers didn’t have much feel for how to use armored vehicles. Officers from the vehicle companies probably didn’t do any better with infantry, but that wasn’t Huber’s problem.
“Captain Orichos wants you with her inside there,” Sangrela said, indicating the Assembly Building with a curt jerk of his head. He didn’t look happy about the situation. “Our orders are to cooperate with the Point authorities, so that’s what you’re going to do.”