Part 97 (1/2)
”Not officially-and not using his metapsychic powers, of course. n.o.body's supposed to use mental strength until the big tug-of-war on Day Four and the no-holds-barred hurley game that climaxes the Tourney.”
”Not even in the jousting?”
”Especially not in the jousting.”
”Will the King he a contestant tomorrow?”
”It's rumoured he'll enter the pogo-stick leap. To help promote the peaceful uses of iron, you see.”
”And will he go anonymously into the lists?”
Anatoly's eyes twinkled. ”I guess we'll just have to be there tomorrow and see. Coming to the j.a.panese lantern parade and the Ground-Star Ball tonight?”
”Unless other matters demand my attention.”
Anatoly finished the tidbit and licked his fingers. Out on the river, course attendants were setting up a large ring of white floats. The Deputy Marshal announced the next contest, something called a kelpie randan. The priest said, ”So the Firvulag King turned down your offer, eh?”
Marc gave him a sharp look. The tip of a coercive-redactive probe stroked Anatoly's brain, making his cheeks bulge and sweat start out on the back of his neck.
”Did Elizabeth send you here to spy?” Abaddon inquired softly.
”She doesn't even know I'm at the games, dammit! Don't ream me-I'm only the advance man. The one you have to talk to is Creyn, waiting down back of the bleachers with Basil. He'd welcome your turning his mind inside out. He has important information for you.”
The probe retracted minimally. The coercive hold tightened.
A roar went up from the crowd as a team of grotesque Howlers prepared to face a human squad of the King's Elites in a wild variant of water polo. Marc was on his feet, herding Anatoly toward the exit steps.
”You seem to be telling the truth. Brother. I believe I'll listen to what our friend Creyn has to say. And on the way out, perhaps we can do business with that tournedos vendor after all.”
The royal flags.h.i.+p, with Aiken at the controls, landed close to the perimeter of the silver hemisphere and seemed to contemplate its distorted reflection in the gaudy sunset light. Bleyn and Alberonn, armed with big actinic blasters, stood by as the twenty-two metapsychic Rebels who had mutinied against their leader came down the aircraft ladder, followed by the King.
Aiken transmitted an indecipherable mental command and an airlock door opened in the surface of the force-field. He watched the others pa.s.s through, then came after and resealed the barrier behind him.
The Children of Rebellion were waiting there in the barbican of Castle Gateway, ready to say goodbye to their parents for the last time.
WALTER: Veikko! Son ... you look fine, and Irena, too. G.o.d, this is wonderful. I can't believe it's happening.
VEIKKO: You're limping.
WALTER: It's nothing. The Tanu redactors say they'll be able to fix me up. But you-Have you kids really done it? Really built the Guderian device?
IRENA: It's not quite finished, Walter. Perhaps by tomorrow.
VEIKKO: The cables need to have their micro-guts tuned up a skosh, that's all. There are problems with the core-mesh of superfine cladded wire, the d.a.m.n stuff that's given us h.e.l.l all along. But once the technical people get it squared away we power up, do a fast test, then just ... go.
IRENA: Hagen and Cloud will be first, of course, because of Marc. Once they pa.s.s through the gate, the rest of us should be safe.
VEIKKO: Cloud pulled a fast one today. Her Tanu lover, rather.
He told the King he wouldn't do his thing in the big chariot race unless Cloudie was there watching. Boy, was Aiken Drum p.i.s.sed! But he finally caved in and took her with him to the royal enclosure and guarded her like a hawk.