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.