Double Helix 03_ Red Sector - Diane Carey [4]
Smiling, Perraton reached to pull him to his feet. “Nice going, lightfoot.” “Don’t help me!” Stiles blurted.
As if bitten, Perraton retracted his hand. Stiles rolled to his feet, now smudged with the gummy remains of garbage and mudballs.
When he got to his feet, Stiles staggered a few steps in the wrong direction and was forced to endure the foolish chickenscratch of turning around and struggling back to the front of his squad, and the further embarrassment of realizing his men were deliberately slowing down so he could get in front. He slammed his way between them, elbowing Perraton and White cruelly out of his path. He didn’t need their charity!
At the gates, two Pojjan guards immediately opened the iron grid and let them in without a word. The embassy’s medievallooking carved wooden door, three guys wide and set between two gargoyles, also opened automatically. No, not automatically-this door was manual. Another guard or servant of some nationality Stiles didn’t recognize was now peeking around the door’s iron rim like a shy cow peeking out of a barn. He was an elderly man, with bent shoulders and bright green eyes set in a jowly dark face with stripes painted on it. More tribal weirdness.
Moving further into the heavily tiled foyer, Stiles suddenly felt ridiculously out of place. The foyer was splendid, its mosaics of gold-and-black chipped stone and glossy ceramics portraying some kind of historic battle scene and the coronation of somebody. Must be from way back, because this wasn’t a monarchical culture anymore. Was it?
The guard pushed the big door shut and swung a huge titanium bolt into place to lock them safely inside, then turned to the clutch of evac troopers and gasped, “One minute! I’ll get the ambassador’s assistant!”
And he disappeared into a wide archway that was two stories tall.
Oak Squad stood in the middle of the gorgeous tile floor, their uniforms scuffed and stinking, and looked around.
“I’d hate to be the guy who cleans the grout” Perraton commented.
White grunted as he scanned the mosaic on the ceiling. “How long you think we’ll have to wait?”
“Not long,” Stiles filled in. “They called for us to come get them, so they’re probably ready to leave. And they’re Vulcans, so you know they’re efficient.” “How do you know they’ll be stiffs?” Moose asked. “Because Ambassador Spock’s a st-a Vulcan. They like to have their own kind around. They understand each other better than we do”
“Oh, fight;’ White drawled. “They do everything better than we do” Stiles scoured him with a glare. “Don’t start on me, Jeremy” He turned away, but in his periphery he noted Perraton’s quick motion to White, erasing any further annoying comments.
Though they stood in this wide foyer feeling dirty and small, they were not alone. Sounds of footsteps and voices leaked from the depths of the embassy halls, and twice Stiles saw ethereal forms slip from one office to another. Did they trust him to get them out safely? Had they seen the botched choreography of the landing? Did they wonder whether the ensign in command was competent enough to handle this?
He gripped his phaser rifle until his hands hurt and shifted from foot to foot, halting only when a young woman-a human-skittered through the grand main door and into the huge foyer. Stiles didn’t pay attention …. The small-boned woman, with tightly wrapped brown hair, tiny pearl earrings, and a twitch in her left eye, went directly to the tallest of them-Jeremy White-and breathlessly said, “I’m Miss Karen Theonella, Ambassador Spock’s deputy attach?. Are you Ensign Stiles?”
She had a tight foreign accent that sounded Earth-based, but Stiles couldn’t pinpoint the country. “He’s over there, ma’am;’ White told her, and gestured. Stiles stepped through the cluster of Starfleeters and took his helmet off, revealing his sweat-plastered blond hair. “Eric