Элизабет Мун - Into the Fire

In seconds they knew: the Palace, Government House, Defense, and Treasury. When the debris and smoke cleared enough to see, the infamous pink dome of the Palace was gone and the walls just east of it were piles of rubble. Government House had also taken a direct hit. But up in the clouds, blurry flashes of light revealed an aerial battle going on.

Ky concentrated on the ground fighting, concerned that her inexperienced troops would get into trouble, but the professionals were doing a good job of leading the cadets where they needed to be.

“Ships sunk,” Rafe reported on her skullphone. “Direct hits on both, and they’re now flickering hulks.”

“You’re getting poetic,” Ky said. “But glad to know they won’t be reinforced from there. Any word from Grace and company?”

“All fine so far. I expect some trouble here, but Stella’s safe where she is.”

President Saranife sat in a comfortable overstuffed chair in the living room of the house where she’d stayed since the evacuation. At her feet, a large, furry tan dog leaned on her legs, its heavy head on her knee, pinning her down.

“All right, Hester?” asked the Second President, Joram Cassidy, from a similar chair across the room. “You’re looking strained.”

“There’s a war starting,” Saranife said. “I should be strained.” She was not particularly fond of her Second President, a stiff man who rarely smiled and who had told her once he was more competent than she. She started to stand up and pace, but the dog leaned harder and put a big furry paw on her other knee.

“It’s more comfortable here than at the Palace,” Cassidy said. “You won’t find—” A loud whomp in the distance rattled windows. “What was that?”

“An explosion,” said one of their hosts, the tall rangy woman called Kris. “Somebody’s lobbing something at the base.”

“Should we… uh… find shelter or something?” Cassidy asked. Now he looked strained.

“Not yet,” Kris said. “Irene—let’s bring them all inside.”

Saranife heard a door open and the scrabble of many dogs bounding up the back steps, across the porch, and into the kitchen. Two of the dogs came right through into the living room. One was a reddish dog with a splint on one hind leg—Ginger, belonging to Sergeant Major Morrison. Suzy was the dog now leaning on her, and Billy, a match for Suzy, had now pinned Cassidy just as efficiently.

“I don’t really care for—” Whomp! “—this dog sitting on my feet.”

“Therapy dog,” Irene said, coming in with a tray of mugs and pastries. “They know when people are nervy.”

“I’m not nervy!” Cassidy protested.

Irene, a little shorter than Kris but radiating equal authority, raised her brows and said nothing, offering the tray instead. He took a mug in both hands, as did Saranife.

“You didn’t put anything in it—”

“No sedatives. You want to be clearheaded, I know. We have a storm shelter; we’ll move there if there’s need.”

“Do you know what’s going on?”

“A little. The ships unloaded troops into the city; the battle has started there.”

“I should be there,” Saranife said. “I should be in contact—”

“Safer this way,” Kris said. “They don’t know where you are, and you’ll still be here when it’s over, able to take charge of the civilian side. I know it’s frustrating.”

Kris was a veteran, Saranife knew. “Do you wish you were back in at times like this?”

The dark eyebrows went up. “ ‘Times like this’? This is the first armed conflict since the Unification War. Yes and no, is the honest answer. I never wanted to see combat—and didn’t—but I know people who are active now, and I’d like to be with them, helping them. But the best thing I can do is keep the two of you safe.”

“The two of you and that squad of cadets who think this is a great break from class and are chowing down on doughnuts,” Irene said. She sipped from her own mug. A series of smaller whoomp s in rapid succession startled Saranife enough that her warm drink sloshed on her hand. The dog leaned even harder on her leg.

“Anti-aircraft,” Kris said.

“Shouldn’t we be watching the news? Surely someone—”

“Power’s out in the city,” Kris said. “We’ll probably lose power here, too.”

Saranife had never experienced a full power outage; Port Major had been built with redundancy in mind. Both the Palace and Government House had emergency generators as well. A night without streetlights? Without lights and heat in the house? She opened her mouth to ask and shut it again. She had never felt so inadequate.

“This is ridiculous!” Cassidy pushed Billy aside and lunged to his feet. “I’m not going to sit here helplessly like a baby in a crib.”

Irene opened her mouth; he shook his finger at her. “You’re just a dog doctor; what do you know? Hester, if you’re too scared to take charge, I’m not. I’m going out there, and back to the city, where I can do some good.”

Hester tried to sit up straighter, but Suzy now had half her furry body across the President’s lap. Cassidy strode across the living room, out to the front porch, and slammed the door. “Men,” Irene said, with feeling. “I suppose we should—”

“Let him go, is what we should do,” Kris said. She smiled at Saranife. “Now that he’s gone, would you like to come down to the bunker? Suzy, go easy.”

The dog slid off Saranife’s lap and stood with waving tail as Saranife clambered up, a little stiff. Kris led the way to a concealed door, and then down a stairway into a basement lined with wine racks and shelves of supplies. Another door, a shorter stairway, another door, and they entered a large room, very quiet. Bunks were built in on one side; a door at one end led to a shower, toilet, and sink. “You’ll be safe here with the dogs,” Kris said. When Saranife looked back, Irene was coming down slowly with Ginger, helping the dog navigate the stairs.

“Do I have to be alone?”

“No—I’m going back up to fetch your guard detail.”

“What about Joram—Cassidy?”

“He won’t make it to the city.” Kris’s look chilled Saranife to the bone. “He’s on the other side,” Kris said gently. “Your guard will take care of him.”

Grace Vatta watched the battle from the clubhouse of her residence tower, though the blowing snow obscured it almost completely. The sound of explosions carried through, muted by snow and the double-glazing. Nearly all the inhabitants of the tower crowded in, like scared cattle Grace thought. Her excuse was more reasonable.

After the streetlights below went out, some residents followed the emergency instructions to return to their apartments. Corridors had emergency lighting and every apartment had at least two, but the clubhouse had gone dark. Those who did not obey clustered near the windows, not sure what they were looking for. Then a column lit by chemlights appeared first as a long blue-green glow, then as individual lights making their way toward the tower.

“Rector—get away from the window. Uh… please?” Cadet Price had not developed any command voice yet.

“They can’t see me,” Grace said. “With the snow, they’re going to have trouble counting floors.”

“Yes, Sera—Rector—but we want you down in the basement level for your own safety.”

Grace gave him a look that had withered stronger men, but realized it didn’t do any good in the dark. “I need to go by my apartment first.”

“I’m supposed to take you directly—”

They were in the hall now and she gave him the look; sure enough he wilted a little. “Apartment first; I have classified materials there. In case they scale the back side of the building and break in through the windows.” Unlikely, but war was war. In her apartment, Grace picked up her two light bags and handed the one with clothes and snacks in it to him. “Don’t drop that; it’s important.” She had the classified bag herself. The elevators weren’t working of course. They took the stairs—she more slowly, because she still did not have her full strength back. Cadet Price galloped ahead, pausing at each landing to wait for her.