Vortex (13 page)

Ever since then the citizens of Rurik had been casting nervous looks at the horizon. And at one another.

Then, just the previous day, winter had returned with a cold snap as if the spring and then the humidity and heat had never been. Another part of the wonders of Jochi.

Sten went back to his lying scribbles. "… Whereas the Eternal Emperor… in his deep affection for all the beings of the Altaic Cluster…"

"Holy clot! Look't thae!"

Sten's head bounced back up. He looked where Alex was pointing. The center monitor screen was complete confusion. Sten strode over to get a closer look.

A whole mass of beings was parading in front of some institutionlike structures; evidently built by the late Khaqan, the structures were heroic in size and drabness. To Sten, they looked like giant beehives tied together with sky-high walkways and belt-ways.

"It's the Pooshkan University," an earnest young tech said. Sten recalled that her name was Naomi.

He groaned. "Students? Oh, no."

"Aye. W' hae hormone trouble, lad," Alex said. He twiddled with controls and suddenly a dozen views of the university leapt up on the main screen.

Here, uniformed campus cops were being hauled out by young beings and dumped through the main archway. In another section of the campus, Sten could see students smashing through what appeared to be a glass-fronted cafeteria. In half a second a wild food fight erupted.

Teachers were fleeing for cover, not too successfully ducking hurled food and other debris. Bonfires were being set all over the campus. Fed, Sten was sure, with the records of any students who happened to be failing.

He also caught glimpses of naked flesh through bushes and trees and heard squeals of joy as some of the students protested in a more passionate manner.

A huge barricade was being erected at the main gate of Pooshkan University. There was enough logic to the tumble of junk that Sten was sure engineering students had to have been involved. Which took planning.

Further proof of this was the sudden unfurling of carefully printed banners. The banners demanded many things. But mostly they demanded: "Democracy Now!"

"Wonderful," Sten said. "The one thing nobody in this place is going to get."

He peered closer at one of the views of the students—and he realized just how odd these students were. To begin with, it was a mixed group. As many Suzdal and Bogazi youths as there were Jochians and Torks. Second, they were all working—rioting, actually—together. This almost never happened on Jochi, much less in the rest of the cluster, where segregation was a prized fact of society's status quo.

"What kind of a place is this?" Sten asked, noting as he did, just how well fed—and clothed—these young beings appeared.

"Gie us a reading, lass," Alex said to the young tech.

Naomi shook her head. "I don't have to look it up. Pooshkan is
the
premier university of the cluster. That's where all the top beings in the Altaics send their sons, daughters, chicks, and pups."

"Rich kids," Sten groaned. "Double wonderful." Then he shrugged. "Oh, well. Sounds like a local problem to me. The cops will handle it."

"Oh-oh," Kilgour said.

"What's with the oh-oh?" Sten hated to ask.

"Wish't an' y'll receive't," Alex said. "Th' wee pigs are comin' out. An' spritely."

Sten saw a phalanx of cops moving toward the main gate, complete with helmets, riot shields, electric prods, and—he saw a small track moving in—tear gas.

"Clot!" was all Sten said.

"An' here come the Lookie Lous," Kilgour said, pointing at crowds of adults gathering at the edge of the campus. Some were shouting at the cops. Some at the students. Some at one another. The onlookers were definitely segregated into tight knots of angry ethnics.

"Hell with it," Sten said. "Still a local problem. No way are we getting involved."

As he spoke, the com board lit up with incoming calls. Alex's people started fielding them. "… Imperial embassy. Yes, we've heard of the disturbance at the university. No, the ambassador has no comment… Imperial embassy… the Pooshkan riot? Yessir. No sir… Imperial embassy…"

Totally disgusted, Sten grabbed his scribblings and started for the door. "Don't call me unless it gets worse," he yelled over his shoulder. "In fact… don't even call me—"

"You best take this one, lad," Alex said, proffering a com set.

"Who is it?" Sten asked, almost snarling.

"A wee bairn frae Pooshkan," Alex said. "In fact, it's thae one." He pointed at a monitor screen, which showed a close-up of an imperious young Jochian. A handsome boy despite a tendency to lard about the jowls. Sten could see him talking into a com set that apparently was connected to the embassy board.

"Th' ringleader, methinks," Alex continued. "Milhouz i' th' name he gives."

Naomi whistled. "Student president," she said. "His parents are on the board of the Bank of Jochi.''

It dawned on Sten just how dicey this Pooshkan place was. A bloodied nose would be viewed as pure murder in some quarters.

"Yes, Sr. Milhouz," Sten said into the com unit, smooth as glass. "This is Ambassador Sten speaking. How may I help you?"

As he listened to the young voice jabbering away in his ear and saw the flushed, excited features on the monitor screen, Sten knew he would have to break the first rule he had set himself in Phase One of this operation. Which was: Do not leave the embassy. Make them come to you.

"You may expect us in a few minutes, young man," he said, and broke connection. As he turned back to the board, he saw that Cind had entered the room. From the look on her face, he could see she had a pretty good idea of what was going on.

One of the monitor screens showed students hurling a shower of debris at the cops.

"This damned thing could be the spark that sets off the big ka-bang," he told Cind. "So, here's the drill. I'll need about ten Gurkhas. Maybe fifty Bhor. But we want to go at this real low profile. Concealed weapons. No uniforms. We don't want to act like storm troopers."

"Pretty tall order for the Bhor," Cind said. "Especially Otho."

"If this works right," Sten said, "everybody will be so curious about Otho and the others, they'll be too busy gaping to cause trouble. Alex?"

"Ready ae you are, lad," Kilgour said.

"Okay, boys and girls," Sten said. "We're going back to school."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T
he day was bright and bitterly cold as Sten and his crew moved through the Square of the Khaqans. He gawked along with the others at the monuments towering over them. He felt like an insect marching through a land of giants.

"I keep waiting for one of them to step on me," Cind said, in an odd echo of his own thoughts.

"By my mother's long and knotty beard," Otho rumbled, "the man had ego enough for a fleet of us."

Otho lifted a hairy paw to shield his eyes from the glittering domes and brooded at a particularly awesome display of bad taste. It amounted to a platform resting on the shoulders of a dozen statues. The statues—easily twenty meters high—were of perfectly formed male and female humans, probably Jochians. They were stark naked. Posed on top of the platform was an idealized statue of the Khaqan swathed in golden robes. He held a torch aloft, complete with eternally licking flames.

"I could understand the man if he built drinking halls," Otho finally said. "It's much more useful to a boasting being. Besides, if you set a good table and are not stingy with the stregg, no one minds a braggart." He peered at Sten with his bloodshot eyes. "Not that I am one to follow this practice. I prefer my guests to extol my deeds."

Sten pointed at the legend inscribed in one corner of the display. It read:
TO HE WHO LIT THE ALTAICS WITH HIS GLORY
. Under it, in smaller letters: From A Grateful People.

"Maybe he had a similar idea," Sten said. "Except he dispensed with the good times for one and all."

Otho's massive brow beetled at him. "This is why I said a drinking hall would make better sense. For a being who ruled so long, this Khaqan knew nothing of leadership."

Sten laughed agreement and motioned his group onward. He had decided it would be better to walk to Pooshkan University. It wasn't far from the embassy, and walking would certainly be lower profile than a phalanx of armored gravcars.

Besides, the first rule Sten had adopted as he learned the ropes of diplomacy was that it was important not to become isolated. He knew many ambassadors whose feet had never touched real ground. They were whisked from the steps of the embassy to state chambers to banquet and back again, for their entire tour of duty. He had also noted that their advice was invariably wrong.

In this case, he had found the scene on the street to be no different from what he had seen on the com room vid screens. Except, emptier. But the
feel
was different, there in the bright sunlight and sharp cold. His breath steamed. Shadowy figures ducked out of sight as his team tromped along, wary hands and paws near weapons belts.

Everywhere Sten looked there was a gigantic portrait or statue of the Khaqan, peering down on the mere mortals who must tread the avenues to their inconsequential appointments.

Especially unnerving was the low sound of thunder that rumbled continually behind the distant mountains. It definitely added an edge to one's mood.

Sten kept that in mind as he mentally prepared himself for young Milhouz and the other student agitators.

All those thoughts had vanished, however, when they entered the Square of the Khaqans. The sheer size of it would stagger any normal being's imagination. Just as the blinding colors fuddled the senses. It was a difficult place to get any kind of perspective. Turning away from a garish pillar, the eyes would clear, only to be confronted by a monument so large it made one dizzy.

Despite the sheer size of the square, Sten felt frighteningly closed in. With good reason. His professional eye noted that the square was built for maximum crowd control. Then he saw the Killing Wall. He didn't have to ask what it was as he looked over its black smoothness. A monument of hatred. Of power gone mad.

A sudden helplessness gripped him. He felt far too small for the task. His mind told him that was silly. The square had been designed to elicit exactly that response. Still, the feeling was difficult to shake.

At last they reached the far exit. Pooshkan University was just beyond. As Sten heard the low chanting of angry students, his mood instantly lifted and spring returned to his step. At least this was something he could confront. And maybe even solve.

"Th' cops're stokin' up their wee courage," Alex said. He had gone on ahead with a Gurkha squad to scout the situation. "Th' gravlighters're pourin' by th' minute. Wi' reinforcements. An' the brass're well back oot a harm's way i' th' mob should break through."

"Worthy warriors all," Otho snorted. "They lead from the rear. Even to attack children. I tell you, my friend, there is no honor in this place. I swear to you I will feel no joy when I break their heads."

"Now, Otho," Sten soothed. "Breaking heads is not your job description. This is a diplomatic mission, remember?"

Down the street they could all see and hear the squalling confrontation that was their mission. Sten professionally estimated that there were about a squillion beings about to go at it, tooth, nail, tear gas, and guns. There came a thunderous shower of rocks falling on the cops' riot shields. Oh, yes—and rocks as well.

"I promise I will use no more than this, my friend," Otho said, shaking a clenched ham of a paw. The other Bhor rumbled in agreement.

"Your orders," Cind snapped at Otho, "are to use nothing but open hands. Or elbows and knees. Light kicking is also permissible."

There was a long silence as Otho peered at this small thing issuing orders. Cind stared back. "Is that understood… Private?" she said.

Laughter boomed from Otho. "By my father's frozen arse cheeks," he said, "open hands it is." He glanced at Sten and wiped moisture from the edge of one bloodshot eye. "She makes me proud," he said. "She proves the worth of Bhor training and ideals."

As Otho struggled with his emotions, there were more loud shouts down the street. A police bullhorn rumbled a warning. And there was another rock shower.

"Dinna be bawlin't, m' great hairy beast ae a friend," Alex said. "W hae a riot to tend to. Remember?"

"We're going to have to get to it first," Cind said, indicating the confused mass of beings jamming the street and the arched entrance to the university.

Then Sten heard a familiar voice. "Beings of Jochi," it thundered over a porta boomer, "listen to the pleas of your children…"

It was young Milhouz. Sten spotted him standing high off the ground, on the base of yet another heroic statue of the late, not so great Khaqan.

"We bring you a message of hope and lo—" And the voice cut off as a group of shielded cops charged the students. There were screams of pain and anger, which were overridden instantly by a roar from the crowd of adult onlookers.

Then there were cheers and some laughter as the charging cops abruptly changed course and beat a hasty retreat. Milhouz flashed a victory sign.

But Sten could see that the victory would be short-lived. The cops were humiliated now—and even more scared than before. He could see that they were about to renew the assault, this time in massed and deadly force.

He nodded to Cind. "You know the drill."

They moved forward. Alex took a flanker's role, moving with the Gurkhas around the cops. Cind took some Bhor to cut between Alex and the angry crowd of adult civilians. Sten, Otho, and about twenty Bhor went straight up the middle, through the cops.

"Ooops! Pardon me," Cind said, as she jabbed an elbow into a burly Tork dockworker. "How rude of me," she apologized, neatly clipping a Suzdal in the jaw.

"So very sorry," Lalbahadur Thapa said, as a sharp toe made contact with the shins of a towering Bogazi. He squeezed his slim figure past two more and trod heavily on the toe of a mammoth Jochian, blocking his path.