‘The council chamber,” Merdon shouted as he ran toward the far end of the room.
Before they could get to the doorway, a trio of Komani nobles bolted through it and faced them. Merdon cut hem down with his beam pistol before they could change the surprised expressions on their faces.
Inside the council chamber, one of the Marines was sprawled limply over an ornate chair, while another was kneeling beside him, firing at five Komani who had taken shelter behind the massive council table. The farther end of the table was splintered and blackened from a grenade’s blast. Mclntyre pushed behind a chair and up to the table itself, then sprayed the length of it with the highest-power beam he could get from his rifle.. The table flashed into flames, forcing the Komani back away from it. Within less than a minute they were ail mowed down.
“Okatar’s not here,” Merdon shouted. “Come on, we’ve got to find him.”
They dashed through several other rooms, while the three surviving Marines took up defensive stations at each of the three entrances to the tent.
The rooms were empty. Smoke was starting to crawl ominously around them.
“The whole camp’11 be in here in a minute!” Mclntyre shouted.
Merdon said, “He’s got to be … LOOK our!”
Nearly a dozen Komani burst out of a doorway off to their right. Their first shots knocked down both Mclntyre and Merdon, but Giradaux hurled a grenade into them before ducldng behind a low-slung table. The concussion flattened everything in the room.
Mclntyre was the first to recover. He rolled over onto his stomach and pulled the pistol from his belt. But none of the Komani were moving. Merdon climbed stiffly to his feet, the right side of his tunic showing a spreading stain of blood.