Storm Force: Book Three of the Last Legion Series by Chris Bunch Page A

picked up Njangu and Celidon at the port, and, with many salutes, took off. Yoshitaro, noticing it was escorted by two Zhukovtype gunships, asked what the danger was.
    “No danger,” Celidon said. “The Protector feels any public appearance by a member of the government should be accompanied with a display of force. It not only gives the workers something to admire, but something to think about if they’re considering the slightest dissidence.”
    Agur was a monolithic city, its chunky buildings high-storied, frequently occupying whole blocks. They appeared to be poured in place, the blank concrete generally dyed brown or light blue, without facing or decoration other than the signs for the businesses within, which were gay and colorful.
    The lim flew about ten meters above the street, siren wailing. Njangu could see people afoot, or in small vehicles of uniform design. There weren’t many lifters in the air.
    “The Protector prefers his people use ground transport, or our extremely efficient undergrounds,” Celidon said, sounding like a government brochure. “Lifters are generally reserved for official use or, in larger forms, to take the citizens to the coliseums or to the country recreational areas.”
    The people wore bright clothing, frequently streaked with conflicting colors that stood out against the drab buildings. Njangu couldn’t tell if they looked happy, sad, angry, or even ground-down.
    “As a matter of curiosity,” Njangu said, “how do you deal with your criminals and dissidents? Conditioning?”
    Celidon gave him a wintry smile.
    “We hardly need Condit,” he said. “And the term we use is social misfits. The Protector sees no need for them to further fatten on the public by lazing about prisons, devising schemes for illegal enrichment when they’re released. Instead, they’re put to work, hard physical work in areas of risk. Undersea mines, on our moon stations, things such as that. Those who’re given lighter sentences, and survive them, generally are no longer a threat to society.
    “As for dissidents …
real
ones were a generation ago. As for the others … you’ll see.”
    Njangu, once a threat to society himself, and certainly now a dissident in Larix’s terms, thoughtfully considered Celidon’s words.
    A few minutes later, Celidon nudged him. “There’s the Protector’s palace.”
    The city encircled the grounds, three or four kilometers in diameter. The great building in the center was as grandiose and rococo as any dictator could dream of, all spires, domes, multicolored bubbles, strangely configured towers.
    Yoshitaro decided that, one day, given the chance and enough explosives, he wanted to strike a blow for architects everywhere.
    • • •
    “Do you have any idea what brought about your exposure?” Protector Alena Redruth asked. There were only two people in the huge office, or at any rate only two Yoshitaro could see. He assumed Redruth wasn’t foolish enough to meet anyone without gun cover and wondered how many gunmen were hidden behind the walls.
    Redruth was under normal height, in his early forties, and balding. He appeared unthreatening, except for his eyes, which held a strange, fixed gleam.
    “As a matter of fact, sir, I do,” Njangu said. “One of my agents, who was under surveillance, contacted me to report the Confederation element was planning another intrusion. I had relay stations in place for these transmissions, but they succeeded in following the signal to my base.
    “I just had time to activate self-destruct mechanisms and flee, with no more than the clothes I was wearing.”
    Redruth leaned forward.
    “Where are they coming, Yohns? Did your agent have time to give you that?”
    “I had only a flash,” Njangu lied. “The charts they’d requested were for the alternate jump point for the Larix system, since they’d failed on their first try. The agent said nothing about when the intrusion would be mounted.”
    “What is the Force