[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
spectrometer munitions sniffers, and other security gear gave the aircar a
close-range inspection. Heavy weapons were nearby, discreetly concealed in
what pretended to be catering marquees, mobile support trailers, and
renovation worksite domes scattered over Empyraeum's roofs and upper works.
Dextra was on hand to meet her guests. The three Exts debarked to some
whistles and cheers, plus a number of cat-calls, as press gangs got what
images they could. Tonii blew Dextra a kiss but remained in the cockpit. Kurt
reboarded after standing by the passenger door and taxied the aircar on
surface effect toward the parking area.
The Hierarch Haven had emerged from the Empyraeum with an articulated
gauzewing mantelet held about her. She and the Exts rejected the ghdestrips
and transfer platforms that would have conveyed them inside quickly; the
meters of imperial purple carpet, flanked by stiltbooted news crews and
throngs of security-checked sightseers, was too good a PR opportunity to pass
up.
The crowds creamed over Dextra's gown and celebrity hair. When she drew back
the pinions of the gauzewing mantelet, her bare breast and jeweled piercewear
drew applause. Lyceum chasubles and workaday business attire had their place,
but her Rationalist partisans required their champions to shine in the
spotlight when the occasion demanded it.
As expected, the Exts received equal acclaim. Even Lod understood the
importance of showing only a reserved martial bearing, barely reciprocating
with a nod here and there. The cams couldn't get enough of Ghost's stunning
face, arrowy shapeliness, and primeval scarification.
Also at Haven's direction, the Exts were wearing their midnight-blue,
gold-buttoned ceremonial outfits, epauleted and mutton-leg-sleeved, with
narrow cuffs reaching almost to the knuckles. Over their right shoulders were
looped aiguil-lettes braided with gold and coarse cord, and their tight
britches were adorned with gold-piped seams. When Dextra and her guests
reached the checkpoint at the foot of the main entrance, the Exts made a grand
show of retrieving the various blades they wore skean-dhu style in their
spit-shined boot tops.
Burning drew his issue ka-bar, Lod revealed a gold-chased dirk, and Ghost
unsheathed her ripsaw-hilted heirloom blade. The weapons were relinquished
haft first to Warrantors in regimentals while Dextra stood to one side,
allowing the cameras an unobstructed shot. There was a slight pause as the
Warrantor sergeant at arms refused to move aside for Ghost. Without batting an
eye, she slid a flat fighting knife out of the other boot and a brace of
three-sided throwing blades thin as pencils from her left sleeve and added a
spit needle from inside her cheek.
Passing into the Empyraeum was like entering a vaulted pleasure palace of
chalky quartz and frosted glass. People of every type, size, and mode of dress
milled and mingled, displaying a theatrical sense of their own presence. The
Page 91
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
range and flamboyance of the costumes lent the hall an atmosphere of
cross-cultural pageantry.
The Empyraeum was teeming with notables, yet heads turned and conversations
died away when Dextra Haven's name was announced. Eyes went to the trio in
somber uniforms as well, and a number of people started for them as Haven led
the way onto the floor.
Burning recalled a legend he had heard about such lions' dens and wished for
angels to appear to hold unfriendly jaws closed.
For that matter, mine, it occurred to him.
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
In the silence of HauteFlash's guest bedroom Claude Mason's thoughts ran murky
yet certain. Reaching the Matsya by helipod and making his plea to Haven and
the assembled press was only half the task with which Farley Swope had charged
him back at Blades Station.
The villa was well appointed with surveillance and security equipment, but
Mason learned early on how to sneak in and out of it without being confronted.
He had attended very expensive essentials forms and prep and upper schools,
where he had absorbed the wiles and wisdom of fellow students who were career
escape artists.
In the case of HauteFlash, it helped that along with observing the au pair's
security routine, Mason had managed to filch her security key.
He took the guest room monitor off-line, cracked the door, and listened. Ben,
Haven's faithful steward, was off somewhere keeping close tabs on the triple
crises of Exts, Trinity's silence, and Aquamarine; Maripol was looking after
Honeysuckle; and the other servants were preparing the household for the
marathon sessions that went into staging a political offensive.
Mason reached the villa's grounds undetected, using Mari-pol's key to
forestall various alarms by means of its identity-füend-or-foe transponder.
Then he exited HauteFlash itself, deactivated the key's tracer function, and
headed into Abraxas, his stride brisk on the footpath's energy-return nap.
He was not unduly worried about Peace Warrantors, with the ball having
diverted a lot of personnel. Even as media-exposed as he had become, he was
reasonably anonymous behind a half-mirrored datanet half cowl he had lifted
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]