Part 32 (1/2)

Jessine swung the rifle from threat to threat.

Overhead there was the sound of an aircar. It dropped down to hover above the fighting beasts. The hatch opened and someone opened fire. A path opened between Jessine and the air- car, but she wasn't sure she wanted to trade her wild beasts for wild politicians.

”Jessine! Stop daydreaming and get in here!”

It was Damien Ver. Her mind hesitated, but her heart didn't. She rushed to the ladder he held for her, and dragged herself up it and into his arms.

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Chapter 12.

The tank slammed into the pavement. Its nose was buried in the ground, and the tank teetered for a moment. Inside, Wiley took the shock against an expanding gel coc.o.o.n. Before he had quite roistered what had happened, the pavement lost its grip and the tank slammed down to horizontal. The treads

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squeaked as they caught at the surface and then the power died.

Catching his breath, Wiley pushed out of the gel coc.o.o.n and through the still-open hatch.

He ducked back in as gunfire snapped around him- More cautiously, he peeked over the edge.

There were human guards in gas masks standing in the doorway of the warehouse. Senator Lomax was there, waving his arms and shouting.

Wiley dropped back into the tank and tried to think.

The shouting continued. He put his head in his hands. Why was all this happening? Because he had been born the son of the High Secretary.

It suddenly occurred to him that it wouldn't mat- ter if it were someone else, if he were a different person - as long as he wore the body of the son of the High Secretary, he would be a target.

Nothing personal.

And suddenly, all the lack of personal involve- ment struck him. There was nothing personal, about this attack, or about his life. He hung with Dov Sclerida and that crowd, or they with him, really, because he was the High Secretary's son, not because he was a person. No girl had ever taken an interest in him, only in the heir to the Secretariat. Nothing he had ever done, or which had been done for him, no conversation, nothing

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Chelsea Quinn farbro

of his life had any meaning or value outside of his existence as the High Secretary's heir.

”Splendid,” he said to himself- ”I don't even want the d.a.m.ned chair.”

But he did want some land of life, so he'd better get moving before someone came to get him. Once again he raised his head slowly out of the tank.

And once again gunfire ripped through the air around him. This time, though, there was answering fire. He turned to see an open patrol car, carrying a pair of Germans, rake hght cannon fire across the warehouse doorway. The humans fell, Lomax included, and the aircar slid inside the warehouse. Wiley watched as the two guards jumped out of the aircar and started to cross to his tank. Clearly, they intended to rescue what they thought was a Cemian comrade. He heard their shouts of anger as they surveyed the car- nage - dead Germans everywhere.

”Betrayal!” he heard them howl, before the last remnants of the gas caught them and ren- dered them mute.

Wiley looked around. His tank was dead. The only options he had were to walk - not an appealing choice - or to go back into the ware- house and take the patrol car. Shuddering, he climbed out of the tank and ran for the service ladder.

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When he re-entered the loading bay, the sight made his stomach turn. All this, because the High Secretary had an heir. And because he was that heir, he had to endure, to see it, to know it was for him. Swallowing hard, he turned away and took the patrol car.