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!
He turned his face to let them see he had no Sunmark.

No hablo
. He shrugged and spread his hands.  No español
.

Porque no
? They scowled and peered again, and the second asked,  Why not?
 I came from New Zealand, he said.  On business with the brokers.
 Barranca?
Bien
. They looked at each other and gestured with their staves.  Okay, amigo
. We are centurions of the Kingdom. A herald of the triple symbol has come to
proclaim it. Come, brother.
Kneel with us and seal your soul to the Revelator.
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They marched him into an open space where he could see the lurid sky. Rows of
silent people knelt on a tiny patch of brown grass around the gold-colored
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statue of a man stabbed with pain, he recognized his murdered father.
The statue stood on a gilded globe. A gang of men with sledges smashed at it
till it caved in. The statue toppled. They shattered it to rubble on the
ground.
 The park of
El Tycoon
. His escort spat on the ground.  Kneel, amigo
. Kneel to the herald of Paradise!
He knelt.
A black-bearded man with a red armband and a red-painted staff was climbing on
the empty pedestal.

Óyeme
! His voice pealed about the tower walls around the tiny park. 
Hermanos de la Revelácion
 
Quin caught the gist of his shrill harangue. The prophecies of the Revelator
had been fulfilled. The
God of the triple sign, the black cross and the yellow crescent and the red
disk of holy Earth God in his wrath had sent the Behemoth of Space to free
mankind from Satan and the Company. In the
Revelator s sacred name, he proclaimed the fall of the Sun Tycoons and the
triumph of
Los Santissimos
.
Los demonios had been overthrown in space, but their evil seed remained on
Earth. Every land must be bathed in blood and purified with fire. The holy
jihad of God as Allah must continue until the whole planet had been cleansed
in the blood of the Sunfolk.
 Kneel! He broke into howling English.  Yield your blood to seal your sacred
souls to the Triplex
God. Extend your arms to the sacred blade, and bow your heads to baptism in
your own sacrificial blood. Pledge your lives to slay the last of Satan s
space-born spawn, and receive your own rewards in
Paradise.

Muerte
! he shrieked. 
Muerte! Muerte
 
His tirade stopped. He turned to stare into the gloomy canyon behind him. A
sudden rumbling filled it. Blinding light stabbed through the smoke from a
high window. A few breaths later, the window vomited fire. Thunder crashed and
echoed against the looming towers.

La Seguridad
! the man beside him hissed. 
Los demonios
, offering us their evil blood 
Quin ran.
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Glancing back when he stopped to get his breath, he saw an ugly black battle
machine roaring into the square. The banner of the Fleet fluttered on it, a
bright gold Sun on a black field. A laser stabbed at it from another high
window. Its long gun swung. Thunder boomed again.
The brothers of the Revelation had scattered. Nobody pursued him, but the fire
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was roaring closer down the smoke-filled canyons. Explosions boomed, and new
towers of flame rose against the lurid sky. He limped faster.
He came into poorer streets, their pavements littered and broken, buildings
already half ruined before anything fell out of space. Women stared from
broken windows. Naked children huddled in doorways. Scarecrow men clustered on
a corner, staring at him.

Adonde
? A sick-faced youth stumbled to intercept him. 
Adonde va
?
 Toward the bridge.
 Too late, señor
. His arms spread and fell. 
El fuego
 the fire comes too fast.
 All these people? Why didn t they go? While they could?

Señor
, we could not. A hopeless shrug. 
Somos pobres
. Many were ill. We had no wheels. No food, because the Synfare stopped. We
had nada ninguna
 nowhere to go.
Coughing to a gust of bitter smoke, Quin slogged on through pools of filthy
mud and the reek of human excrement. Blistering heat radiated across every
intersection. A woman s shriek above him, cut off when her body crunched and
flattened redly on the sidewalk. Frantic refugees streamed into the street,
cursing or praying or dully silent, milling in aimless confusion.
Pushing on through human chaos and suffocating smoke, he came to the bridge.
Fugitives jammed it, swarming over stalled vehicles, over bloodied bodies. He
plunged in among them. Guns thudded behind him. Shouts and screams and the
conflagration bellowing. The human river swept him across.
On the bank beyond, he climbed aside to glance back. The dark war machine came
lumbering out of roiling smoke. It roared onto the bridge. People ahead of it
climbed on the railings, fell into the river, slid under its tracks.
He saw sudden yellow flame bloom beneath it. New smoke exploded. A heavy
concussion jarred him.
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Beyond the river, a blazing tower toppled. A long section of the bridge
exploded under the tank. It toppled and teetered, climbed out of the wreckage,
came grinding on.
When the seeker struck Point Vermillion, Venerable Sire had been on his way to
relieve his fellow
Andromedan, Sagacious Sage, as research chief. Near enough to observe the
attack, he escaped the queen by letting his supply craft drift cold. When she
had flown on starward, he turned back home to alert the Elderhood.
Cluster One had the shape of a midget galaxy. Its core was the dwelling of the
Eldermost, a heavy little asteroid born near some early star and rich in
elements rare in the halo. Its spirals were mirror-
shielded iceballs, gathered into orbit by the member peoples of the Elderhood
to hold their missions and legations.
Arriving at the Andromedan residency, Venerable Sire found the news there
ahead of him. The queen had flown far faster than he. Elderhood craft had seen
her feeding on objects nearer the core-star.
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He asked his minister what action had been taken.
 None, the minister replied.  Though I understand one of the Newlings wants
the Council to schedule the matter for discussion.
 Discussion? I urge that we must act.
 What action is possible?
 I don t know. His voice flickered and dimmed.  But I ve seen the seeker. I
watched her destroy a rash young Newling who ventured too near. I saw her
swallow our observatory. I urge that something must be done.
 It s a matter for the Eldermost.
He asked the minister to request an audience.
 Not much chance of that. An indigo scowl.  The Eldermost seldom talks to
anybody except a few old cronies and the Seniors of the Council.
When he insisted, the minister radiated his request. He was allowed to call. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]