Part 34 (1/2)
And finally he had to make a decision. Each move in this direction angled him a little farther from the Dewdrop, and with the perimeter penetrated it was time to head north. But straight north now would take him near the center of the city, and while the streets immediately below were deserted, he had no real hope that things would be that easy for long.
The city's center was where the mayor's office and presumably, the rest of
Sollas officialdom were located, and if the place wasn't crawling with people he would be very surprised. He would have to work his way around it, threading the region between that activity and the sentry line-
Or else run smack through the middle of it.
Pyre paused at roof's edge, rolling the sudden thought through his mind as if tasting it. Hitting the Qasamans' political stronghold would be a grand gesture, a message of Cobra courage and power the leaders here couldn't possibly miss.
Tactically, it would serve to split the Qasamans' attention, drawing fire-power away from the Dewdrop and perhaps from Cerenkov and the other prisoners as well.
And speaking of them, if he could manage to take the mayor captive or hold some critical nerve center, he might even be able to w.a.n.gle their freedom without the dangers a brute-force approach would entail.
All in all, he decided, it was worth trying.
Scanning the street one last time, he lowered himself quickly over the parapet and dropped to the ground, bouncing off a convenient window ledge halfway down to ease the final shock of landing. Checking the cross street, he started northeast toward the center of town at a deceptively easy-looking lope, enhanced vision and hearing alert for the Qasamans who would inevitably appear.
The static crackle of the Qasamans' radio jamming blanket dominated the
Dewdrop's lounge, its monotony matching perfectly the unchanging still-life on the s.h.i.+p's outside monitors. For all the evidence offered, the entire population of Qasama could have fallen off the planet immediately after Justin had been taken away nearly an hour ago. Telek glanced at her watch, slos.h.i.+ng the untasted cahve in her mug as she did so. Three minutes gone, and not even a hint the
Qasamans intended to reply. ”Try it again,” she told Nnamdi.
He nodded and raised the mike to his lips. ”This is Dr. Hersh Nnamdi aboard the
Aventinian s.h.i.+p Dewdrop,” he said. ”We urgently request communication with Mayor
Kimmeron or other Qasaman leaders. Please respond.”
He lowered the mike into his lap and Telek strained her ears, listening. The
Dewdrop's most powerful tight-beam transmitter was spitting Nnamdi's translated words directly at the nearby tower. Jamming or no jamming, some of that signal should be getting through. If the Qasamans were listening.
If they weren't, this was a complete waste of effort. If they were, even if they didn't care to reply, Winward might have a chance.
Might.
”Stage two,” Telek said to Nnamdi. ”Put some emotion into it.”
The other's cheek twitched, but he lifted the mike. ”This is Dr. Hersh Nnamdi aboard the Dewdrop. I would like to send an unarmed representative out to negotiate our companions' release with you. Will you grant him safe-conduct to someone in authority?”
Static. Beside Nnamdi, Christopher stirred and looked at Telek. ”You realize, of course, that if Justin and Almo have made their move down south, Kimmeron will know we've got super-warriors aboard and will be waiting for Michael with all the guns they've got.”
Telek nodded wordlessly. Winward knew it too, of course. She stole a glance at the Cobra as he sat in quiet conversation with Link at one of the other displays. They would be discussing tactics and strategy, she knew-and what good it would do she couldn't imagine. Shots or sh.e.l.ls fired from a distance by an unseen gunner weren't something that could be fought. Not even by Cobras.
”Someone-anyone-answer me, please.” Nnamdi's voice cracked a bit, and Telek s.h.i.+fted her attention back to him. The strain was beginning to get to him, she realized uneasily. A little of that would add believability to the whole scheme, but too much could be trouble. ”Look, I'm going to send out my second-in-command, Mr. Michael Winward,” Nnamdi continued. ”Please talk to him, all right? There's no need for any more bloodshed than we've all already suffered. I'm sure we can make a deal if you'll only agree to negotiate.”
Nnamdi paused, looking to Telek. Steeling herself, she nodded. He licked his lips and turned back to the mike. ”I'm sending him out now. Okay?”
The static remained unbroken. Putting down the mike, Nnamdi slumped in his seat and closed his eyes. Across the room, Winward got easily to his feet. ”That's my cue, I believe,” he remarked, picking up his formal tunic from the back of a chair and slipping it on over his black nightfighter combat suit.