Jessine ran down the halted walkway.

Kitchleys office was nineteen floors above her in what had once been a diplomatic reception room, but had been pressed into service as office s.p.a.ce more than twenty years ago. She decided to head for that.

Jessine avoided the dropshafts. The civilian ones might not be dependable, and she lacked the codes for the military ones. Her husband had never involved his twenty-four-year-old bride in military affairs. No matter. She didn't want an entrance that wouldn't allow quick exit. That left the stairs or the old-fashioned freight lifts. She tried to remember where the lifts were.

There was a cross hallway some distance ahead other, and Jessine slowed down, listening for what she might encounter.

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Chelsea Quinn farbro

A squad of Treasury fighters came jogging along in loose formation, a sergeant urging them on. He slowed as he caught sight of Jessine.

"Trouble, soldier?" he shouted.

Jessine held up her b.l.o.o.d.y arm. "I need a medic." she said, hoping that none of his men were medics. "It could be a bacterial." Bacterial bullets were illegal throughout the Pact, but it was known that there were always a certain number of them around.

"Bacterial?" the sergeant repeated, taking an involuntary step backward.

"Might be," she said. "Better not get too close."

"Bacterial. Holy b.l.o.o.d.y backfire. You need quarantine right away. There's a medic station back that way." He nodded his head in the direc- tion he'd come from. "Sony, soldier." The sergeant barked a few sharp words to his squad and they moved off briskly.

Jessine at last remembered where the lifts were, and headed directly for them.

She reached them without meeting anyone else. You could tell today was special - the Pal- ace was usually bustling with people, humans and aliens, doing the work of the Pact. Stepping into the freight cage, she pressed the code for Kitchley's floor. As the door closed, she leaned

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back against the wall and caught her breath. As the lift rose, it occurred to Jessine that anyone looking for her might think to check Kitchley's office. It was well known around the Palace that the High Secretary's Appointments Clerk and the High Secretary's new wife worked together.

She punched the code for the High Secretary's Retreat, three floors below Kitchley's. She could take the stairs, and not be a sitting duck when the lift doors opened.

She stepped out into the domed chamber, look- ing up toward the white-and-gold balconies rising over her. The lavish Daphne ferns threw out their baroque tendrils along the spiraled trellis, their white and silver blossoms scenting the air with a curious mixture of saffron and honey. The one remaining Retreat of the original twelve, it had not yet surrendered to the s.p.a.ce-hungry beast of bureaucracy. It still had the lush and elaborate grace that the High Secretary was supposed to enjoy. Standing here, among the plants, she could almost forget the battles outside.

The retreat, blue and silver with touches of rosy mauve, was awash with tranquility. It reminded her of Cowper Bouriere. who had been kind to her, and who had not pretended that an arranged marriage was a love match. For that alone, she did love him.

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Jessine heard the discreet beep of an alarm, and somewhere beyond the retreat there was the sound ofglastic breaking. Her grip on the Ridly tightened a fraction.

Shots crashed above her and the bal.u.s.trade of one of the balconies shattered.

Jessine moved back, hiding in the rich curl of a huge Daphne fern.

Two minutes went interminably by. Jessine lis- tened but heard nothing more than the continuing beep of the alarm. She couldn't wait here forever. She had to know if Kitchley had survived, and if she would be safe with him.

But the stairs were monitored, and open besides. She looked up the shaft of the ancient fern. It grew three stories, branching off with broad leaves and thick stems. Some of the heavier branches pa.s.sed close by balconies. Hol- stering the Ridly in the waistband of her pants, she began to climb.

She climbed steadily, cautiously, taking care to examine each balcony thoroughly as it came into

view.

For an instant she thought of Damien Ver, and was startled at how concerned she was for him.

What was he doing? Why had he sent those men for her? Did he really just want her safe, or did he want the Secretariat? Near the top of the

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fern, Jessine stopped to rest and to re-evaluate her position. From here she could see that someone had used railguns on the elaborate ceil- ing, blasting away the mural of the Creation of the Pact in which all the great heroes sat together in front of a High Secretary who looked a bit like Jessine s husband.

"Oh, Cowper," she whispered. "You didn't deserve this. You weren't a bad man." She stared at the painting, fighting back unexpected tears.

Did she have any chance at all? Did any of them?

Peering through the foliage, ears straining, Jessine tried to determine if the area was clear. It seemed so, and she crawled out along a branch to the nearest balcony.

Then she heard a voice from a window above her and froze.

"Step out." came the sharp order from a Secu- rity sergeant, his railgun ready for business.

Jessine straightened up. She recognized him.

"Good afternoon. Sergeant Mallas," she said dis- tinctly, glad that her voice did not shake.

"Madame Bouriere," said Sergeant Mallas. hur- riedly lowering his railgun and flushing with embarra.s.sment. "I didn't realize... And your arm.

Do you need medical attention?" He was two bal- conies away, but appeared to be considering

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Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

climbing over the railings and bal.u.s.trades in order to reach her.

"Step out into the hall," suggested Jessine, starting there herself.

"No," said Sergeant Mallas, showing his anxi- ety again. "It isn't safe. Stay where you are. I'll come and escort you."

She faltered, then made herself nod in approval. 'That would be very welcome. Thank you. Sergeant." She made an effort to straighten her clothing and her hair while the young soldier made his way around to her balcony.

"We were all so worried." the sergeant said as he came to her side. "No one knows what... excuse me, Madame Bouriere." He dropped to one knee and fired his railgun at a shadow in the hall. The pellets spattered and the shadow retreated.

"Who... ?" Jessine asked.