As the pod finally came to a rest and his adrenaline slowly ebbed, shock still rang in his ears. He realized that the sharp pain indicated he must have broken his elbow. More stupidity.

First things first. With one hand he found a first-aid kit and cracked open a dual stimulant/painkiller shot. That should be enough to keep him going. He couldn’t think very far ahead, though. Lanyan couldn’t believe that Brindle would not follow his duty and come to retrieve him, but for now he would be on his own. He’d have to live off the land and survive somehow.

Next step, he activated the locator beacon on the off chance that someone would come back to scoop him up. He gathered a survival pack, a handgun — the only weapon stored aboard the pod — and braced himself as he popped open the hatch.

Outside on the flat, white landscape he saw no towering insect structures, no alien buildings. Nevertheless, Klikiss were swarming out of deep tunnels, their spiny carapaces glittering in the sun, their scythelike limbs flailing in the air. Though his pod had landed many hundreds of kilometers from the heart of the Klikiss city, their tunnels apparently extended across and under the entire continent. He hadn’t killed all the bugs on Pym — not even close. And the breedex must still be alive and controlling them.

Now Klikiss warriors were emerging to investigate the crashed escape pod. Millions of them. And they had spotted him.

As the creatures scuttled forward, he held his weapon in his good hand, took careful aim, and fired. He kept firing. He counted thirty-eight splattered bugs before his charge pack was almost depleted. Swallowing hard, he decided he should keep the last shot for himself; the gun’s power levels read nearly zero. The stimulant burst he had given himself wasn’t working. His elbow ached like a son of a bitch.

As chittering and clacking Klikiss surrounded his escape pod, Lanyan dropped back inside and sealed the hatch. Hunkering down, he could hear them pounding and scratching against the hull. The pod was not designed to serve as a bunker in an all-out attack.

There was a long, ominous pause, then Lanyan heard cutting tools and sharp claws. In four different places, the wall of the vessel broke open. The enormous bugs clawed their way inside. Lanyan backed against the wall, holding his weapon.

Everything was happening too fast, but he could accept reality. These things were monsters from his worst nightmare, and they came at him now, all claws, pincers, and mandibles. With a final defiant howl, he squeezed his eyes shut, pressed the weapon against his temple, and activated the firing stud.

The charge pack had only enough energy left to burn his skin. Lanyan stared at the empty weapon in helpless dismay. The curved hull fell apart behind him.

From all directions, the Klikiss swarmed over him. Their chittering, triumphant music drowned out his screams.

86

Deputy Chairman Eldred Cain

Cain felt no emotion about this at all, which he found odd, since (unlike Chairman Wenceslas) he had never committed outright murder. But this was necessary. The assassination of the Archfather, the cold-blooded murder of former Chairman Maureen Fitzpatrick, the appalling bargain with the black robots — Cain could not let the downward spiral go any further.

Basil Wenceslas had to be removed, permanently.

McCammon had helped Cain set up the trap, while Sarein had tried to convince the Chairman to consider less extreme alternatives to some of his actions, to no effect. Cain had chosen not to tell Sarein too much about the specific plot. She wasn’t so much weak as she wasbreakable. Nevertheless, she was part of what was about to happen, and she had performed admirably.

After the “bolt of heavenly fire” had annihilated the outspoken Arch-father, the people flocked to their supposed savior, King Rory. Never before had Cain seen such an explosion of religious fervor. The most gullible people were also the most vociferous, and the Chairman encouraged the newsnets to carry only coverage that proclaimed the Archfather’s death to be a dark miracle, an unmistakable sign from God, a blow from Heaven.

Though many were plainly skeptical, curious investigators could find no sign of what the true cause of the lightning had been. Cain suspected that Chairman Wenceslas had deleted all records of whatever he had used. Freedom’s Sword had proposed a handful of explanations, which the newsnets consistently mocked as “ridiculous conspiracy theories.”

The murder of the Archfather was just one more terrible thing. There could be no saving Chairman Basil Wenceslas.

Now on a bright morning, Basil rode with Sarein and Deputy Cain in his protected ground vehicle. The driver pulled up at the small parade field in front of the retooled compy factory, where a small receiving stand had been set up outside the wide warehouse doors.

Modular warehouse annexes and squarish industrial structures were part of the manufacturing facility. This particular factory had been put online as a secondary complex to pick up the slack in assembling Soldier compies, but after the compy revolt it had become the primary site.

McCammon had already gone ahead to arrange for security during the Chairman’s speech, although King Rory wouldn’t be there. Sarein sat close to the Chairman in the vehicle, obviously uncomfortable, while Cain remained apart, saying little, keeping a poker face.

A small crowd of Basil’s most conservative supporters had gathered at the edges of the parade ground; several had brought their own banners. Industrialists took their places on the flat seats of the VIP bleachers, watching the royal guards line up to one side of the compact group of stands.

Captain McCammon’s guards surrounded the speaking area. Colonel Andez and her dark-uniformed cleanup crew stood closer to the podium, as if symbolically protecting Chairman Wenceslas even against the royal guard. Not a good sign, Cain thought.

When the people noticed the Chairman’s vehicle, a dull cheer went up. Cain did not detect the enthusiasm he had expected. Perhaps even these people were uneasy about Basil’s Faustian deal with the black robots.

“You two wait here,” Basil said. “I’ll make the announcement, and we can get back to work.” He slipped away from the ground vehicle and headed toward the podium without a backward glance at them.

Cain allowed no sign of his relief to show; he’d been afraid Basil would ask them to accompany him. As he and Sarein emerged from the vehicle, she pointedly did not glance at him. Knowing what was to come, she seemed to be counting the seconds. He certainly was.

They watched with distaste as three brand-new black robots marched out of the factory doorway to be presented as a symbol of Hansa industrial acumen. The Chairman stepped up to the podium and faced the spectators. With abrupt and businesslike movements, he placed himself at the center of the podium exactly on his mark, exactly where Cain knew he would be.