Empire Games Series, Book 1(30)

A young man stood before her, wide-eyed. Something about him didn’t seem quite right: it wasn’t his clothing (a regular worker’s suit, with a cravat after the modern style) or hair (curly, with flyaway locks escaping the grip of his pomade), but rather his curiously fixed expression. Somehow it reminded her of someone she’d seen before. “Hello,” she said, smiling professionally, and reaching out to take his right hand, “how are you today—”

Danger. As he opened his mouth she remembered where she’d seen that look: back during the Revolution, or even earlier. He snatched his hand back from her offered palm, lips curling back in rage—

“Down!” It was Melvyn, her number one bodyguard, shouting over the hubbub. Miriam ducked without thinking and began to roll, realizing This is going to hurt tomorrow—

—then somebody landed on top of her, crushing the breath from her body and shoving her off to one side as the young man shouted “For God and Emperor!” and repeatedly pulled the trigger of the snub-nosed revolver he had somehow, improbably, smuggled in past the security guards.

Someone shrieked hoarsely, in an uncontrolled bloody-throated wail of pain. The crash of the gun, so close, felt like ice picks in her inner ears. A bullet struck the floor close enough to her face that she saw splinters. More screaming, and a bellow of rage. “—God and—”

Boots, stomping past her face. Different screams, with the shrieking of whoever had been shot a ghastly counterpoint. “Got ’im!”

Miriam gasped, trying to breathe. Her ribs hurt, and her left shoulder was a solid lump of agony. For a moment she wondered if she’d been shot too, but there was no blood. “Off me,” she tried to wheeze. A second later the man lying atop her shifted, grinding her harder against the floor, then began to lever himself up.

“Sorry, ma’am. Clear?” The latter question was not addressed to her.

“Shooter down, stand down, stand down! Evacuate the Minister!”

Suddenly she was free. Miriam took a deep, moaning breath and began to push herself up on her right elbow. Strong hands grabbed her under the armpits and bodies closed in, carrying her backstage in a rush. Her chest heaved. “I’m all right!” she choked out. “Let me walk!”

Melvyn was insistent. “Madame, we have to get you out of—”

“I’ll walk!” Her chest heaved. “How many gunmen?”

“Just the one, but—”

“Casualties?” She dug her heels in, turning to face him. Her bodyguards drew in, facing outward, forming a human shield. “Who’s hurt?”

“Madame, he hit Jeffrey in the stomach, an ambulant will be here just as soon as—”

“Who else?”

“His shots went wide, thank God,” said the other guard.

“Right.” She took a deep breath, then another, assessing the situation. “Lone gunman, one pistol, one injured, nobody killed. Secure the scene, Mel, I’m going back.”

“Ma’am, I can’t let you—”

“You can’t stop me and you mustn’t stop me,” she shot right back. “Do you want to make me look like a coward? There are frightened people there—”

“But Commissioner—”

“Fuck it.” Miriam took an unsteady half-step forward. Her guards shuffled around uneasily, more shocked by her language than by the assassination attempt. “Do you want to make me look like a coward?” She glared at her escort. “Because if I hide, that’s what I’ll be.” She drew herself fully upright, winced and gritted her teeth, forcing herself to ignore her shoulder. “I’ve a factory to open, and we’re not going to let some little royalist toe-rag spoil the big day for everybody else. If he’d brought backup that’d be another matter, but.” She took another step, and they made way for her as she walked back toward the auditorium, which was in turmoil. The shrieking was subsiding, but the sound of sirens was still rising outside. Press flashbulbs flared. “I’m going back in there and I’m going to call for calm.” She bared her teeth at Melvyn: “Because that’s my job. Otherwise the terrorists have won: and that’s not going to happen on my watch.”





Politicians

FORT GEORGE, NEW YORK, TIME LINE THREE, MARCH 2020

Hulius found a surprise waiting for him at his destination. His boss, Colonel Jackson, had a visitor.

“Come in, sit down.” Jackson gestured at a chair. “Major, I believe you’ve met Mrs. Hjorth already…?”

Hulius gaped for a moment. “Yes, we’ve met,” he said. Then he beamed. “Nice to see you again, Brill. Colonel, Mrs. Hjorth is my sister-in-law…”

Jackson kept a poker face as Brill smiled at Hulius: clearly he hadn’t realized it was a family matter, even though they were both world-walkers. “It’s been ages, Yul.” Indeed, it had been: he’d barely recognized her at first. She’d cut her long blond hair much shorter and curled it after the current mode, and it was graying toward ash. She was also slightly dumpier than he remembered, and the crow’s-feet at the edges of her eyes were deeper. She wore a fashionable shalwar suit: the very model of a modern female Party member. She extended a hand, and he shook it across his boss’s desk, still startled to see her here. “How are Ellie and the girls?” she asked.