Worlds in Chaos (115 page)

The red camera light went out. “Thanks, Mr. Toddrel,” the set manager called from behind the lights. “That’s was good. That’s it. You’re done.”

Toddrel collected together the notes he had laid on the desk, got up, and headed for the door. Ibsan, his bodyguard, saw him through the glass wall of an adjacent monitor room and came out.

“Mr. Toddrel. You’d better see this.” Ibsan nodded back over his shoulder.

“What is it?”

“Flash just coming in from Bolivia. That Hyadean mining center at Uyali. Half their military base down there blew up. It’s like it got nuked.”

“
Jesus
. . . .”

Toddrel followed Ibsan into the room, which was lined on one side with consoles and screens. Three of the operators were grouped in front of one showing a scene panning across the wreckage and carnage of whole blocks of peculiar Hyadean building-block architecture shattered and twisted into grotesque shapes, with a pall of smoke hanging over the background. Crews from emergency vehicles had started bringing out survivors, while more flyers and Terran-built helicopters descended into view from above. A voiceover was talking excitedly and breathlessly.

“About fifteen minutes ago,” one of the operators commented, seeing that Toddrel had joined them. “The whole back end of the place just went up. From the accounts, it sounds as if it was the armory. It was loaded. A shipment of Hyadean ammo and stuff just arrived from orbit. They’re counting the death toll in hundreds already.” Toddrel watched grimly for a few minutes, but there was nothing of further significance to be learned. He caught Ibsan’s eye and jerked his head curtly in the direction of the door as a sign for them to leave. They stopped by a door at the end of a corridor of offices.

“It had to be those new remote-detonatable munitions,” Ibsan murmured. “Somehow the wrong people got access to the codes. I don’t know what kind of a can of worms it opens up, but I figured you ought to know right away.”

Toddrel nodded, still thinking frantically. “You did right, Earl.”

He should never have agreed to letting Drisson look into it, he told himself. There were too many factions at large, too many conflicting interests. The opportunities for betrayal should have made the risks unthinkable. In normal circumstances he would never have condoned it. He had no idea who the perpetrators might have been. The Asians or one of their breakaway groups? Part of the guerrilla front? Some other lunatic sect? Drisson himself for some reason? Somebody Drisson was mixed up with, who had an agenda of their own? . . . But whatever, there was one person who was sure to be high on everybody’s suspect list.

Roger Achim, the program’s producer, came through from the set, accompanied by a couple of assistants. “Everything all right, Mr. Toddrel?”

“Yes, just fine,” Toddrel responded mechanically.

“Good, good.”

“Oh, one thing.”

“Yes?”

“Is there somewhere private that I could use? I have to make a confidential call urgently.”

“Sure. Susie, find Mr. Toddrel an empty office along there somewhere, would you?”

Minutes later, Toddrel was confronting the blue-purple features of Gazaghin, the Hyadean military commander in Washington. He had heard the news, and his mood was murderous.

“I just wanted to assure you personally that I had absolutely no knowledge of this appalling—”

Gazaghin interrupted. “Don’t waste the breath, Toddrel. I don’t believe for long time anything you say. It makes no difference now who does this, in any place. I warned you. Now it’s not your war now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Is too much. We trust to let Terrans in charge. Look what happens. Now there is protest risings and angry questions all over Chryse. We have orders from our government to put the stop. We control now.”

“But it’s not within their jurisdiction to,” Toddrel objected. “You are still aliens within a sovereign territory. . . .”

Gazaghin slammed a hand down on the surface where he was speaking. “When Hyadean dead are hundreds, it
is
our jurisdiction!” he bellowed. “When illegal propaganda pictures are flooding our world, it’s our jurisdiction. Your President Ellis has just signed the order. This country’s armed forces are now under my command.”

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Cade decided that the luxurious Newport Beach mansion offended him. He instructed Henry to have the valuables and personal effects packed and put into storage, and the house made available to the authorities for housing evacuees. The influx would improve the tone of the neighborhood, he told Marie. As for the yacht, Warren was to place it at the disposal of the military for the coastal transportation fleet being hurriedly expanded. He and Marie would move into quarters at the mission. Luke elected to come too, retaining his position as Cade’s right-hand man for the duration. Besides putting them close at hand for the work there, it would ease traveling. Marie preferred this arrangement.

Luodine planned to tour the front-line areas, rear bases, refugee centers, hard-hit zones, collecting original material that the mission would send back to Chryse along with whatever could be got from other sources—the fruition of the idea that had begun forming in her mind during her experiences in Segora. The plane that the Air Force provided turned out to be a C22-E twin turbofan military airlift VIP transport, normally carrying sixteen passengers, but in this instance fitted out as a flying communications post. It arrived with a pilot, copilot, and technical sergeant for support at Edwards Air Force Base in the high desert above Palmdale. The base had been hit by intermediate-range conventional missiles launched from over the Rockies but was still flying operations. Yassem flew out there with Hudro and Nyarl in one of the mission’s flyers to meet the crew, brief them on the mission, and check over the equipment before tomorrow, when the team was due to depart. Since Hyadean flyers were few and in demand, after being dropped off at Edwards, they sent it on to Newport Beach to collect Cade, Marie, and Luke, and take them to the mission with the belongings they were bringing from the house.

Meanwhile, Luodine was organizing the mission’s communications room as a clearing center for forwarding despatches to Chryse. A Colonel Nacey from FWA military intelligence, along with a small staff, was attached to the operation to ensure that sensitive information was not released prematurely. The main item that she had not mentioned in her outgoing reports—although the Union commanders who needed to know would be aware of it from their own sources in any case—was that a mixed AANS force under a Chinese flagship had sailed from Hawaii to intercept the carrier groups moving north, now approaching the equator west of the Galapágos Islands. The officers on Nacey’s staff called the situation “Midway in reverse.”

But it was becoming clear that the move from Hawaii was just part of a far larger and more audacious plan only now beginning reveal itself. Luodine sat, stunned, alongside Nacey, while on a screen in front of them a spokeswoman from Beijing summarized the action that had been taking place since early that morning. Confused reports had been coming in from various sources about air drops in Mexico and fighting along the Panama Canal Zone, but this was the first coherent account linking it all together. President Jeye himself had been notified officially only within the previous hour—although Nacey thought it likely that he and his military commanders had known privately before then.

“Scattered resistance only is being encountered at Acapulco. We have already commenced air operations farther to the south, supporting the landings north and south of the canal. The main Hyadean defenses were neutralized before they could come into effective operation. . . .”

“Wyv, you’d better get Orzin here,” Nacey told Wyvex, who was hovering behind. “This is unbelievable.” Wyvex tried calling Orzin on his communicator, failed to get a response, and left. Luodine thought of calling Nyarl at Edwards with the news, but then decided to let it ride. He would find out soon enough.

The Chinese had intervened in Central America with a series of long-range airborne landings and support strikes to secure air bases. So far, they were down at six locations in Mexico and two in Costa Rica, with planes refueling and flying missions from one of them already. In addition, forces had been dropped on both sides of the Panama Canal, clearly with the object of cutting the reinforcement and supply connection from the Caribbean to the Union carrier groups in the Pacific. In what sounded like an incredible series of blunders on the part of the defending Hyadeans, the attackers, moving fast and with sound jungle training, had achieved almost total surprise, in some instances overrunning opposition still flailing around, trying to get dressed. In others, the cumbersome and complicated Hyadean heavy weapons had been seized before they could be brought to bear, and spearheads had reached the shores of Gatun Lake, separating the two sections of the canal, in at least four places. With the defending airfields taken out preemptively by undetected sea-skimming cruise missiles, an entire Union supply squadron and battle group trapped between Colón and Balboa were shooting it out against shore-based missiles and guns that were becoming more effective by the hour, and which would soon be augmented by local air support.

Michael Blair hurried in, looking flustered, and came through between the Terrans and Hyadeans who were watching. “What’s happening? I heard there was something big,” he said. Luodine turned from the console and summarized. “Oh my God!” Blair breathed.

“Whoever dreamed this up isn’t someone I’d want to play poker with,” Nacey said. “They’re stretched out to the limit—hanging on until the fleet from Hawaii gets within support range.” He pointed at a situation display map on one of the walls. “Obviously, the aim is to get viable land-based air flying from Mexico to pincer those carriers that are coming up. If they pull it off . . .” He drew a breath, shook his head, and left it at that.

Wyvex reappeared with Orzin in tow. Luodine and Nacey repeated the story. By this time, the Chinese spokeswoman was reporting Mexican government troops protecting Union air bases changing sides and opening them to the rebels.

Luodine was excited. The entire Union position in the south seemed to be collapsing. Reports since yesterday had described them as all but halted in Texas, with armor and other units standing down or coming over to the Federation en masse. She stared at the wall screen showing the map and saw the Pacific Coast secure, Alaska a part of the Federation in all but declaration, Canada on the verge of allying formally. All that was propping the Union up now was their Hyadean backing. And she and the others at the mission were revealing its true nature to the people of Chryse already. Surely it couldn’t last much longer now.

Only then did she become aware of a shrill tone emanating from one of the consoles across the room. Orzin turned his head sharply in alarm; at the same instant, an eerie wail started somewhere outside the building, rising in pitch and volume. A screen illuminated, showing a map of the Los Angeles coast with an inset of Hyadean symbols. On it was a line beginning from a point twenty miles or so out in the ocean and passing right over the mission’s location on Carson Street. The line bore a red dot moving steadily inland. A Hyadean voice in public-address mode filled the room. “Alert! Alert! Submarine missile launch detected thirty-one kilometers, bearing two-twenty degrees. Three of them, heading directly at us. Estimated impact forty-two seconds. Evacuate immediately!” Wyvex translated for the Terrans, his voice cracking.

Luodine felt her mouth turn dry. Orzin turned a dazed face to the room. “Get out of the building as fast as you can. Keep it orderly. Use the stairs at both ends. . . .”

Even as he spoke, figures were sliding up out of chairs and converging toward the door, some forcing to get ahead, others refusing to yield as survival instincts took over; a few remained unmoving, transfixed in disbelief. Luodine found herself being drawn forward into the crush pressing to get through the door, conscious of a raw smell of fear all around, somehow being contained just short of panic. Somebody behind her was whimpering, shoving her in the back. Luodine jabbed back savagely with a elbow. There was an eternity of jostling, pushing, frightened voices, some blows. Then she was out in the corridor, running with the bodies around her, colliding with others coming out of doorways, running again, through onto crowded stairs . . . even though she knew already that they were never going to make it.