Legion Of The Damned - 06 - For Those Who Fell Read Free

himself on his pumped-up physique. He monitored Vanderveen’s face to see if she would react to it, was disappointed when she didn’t, and used a well-manicured finger to stab a button. “FSO Vanderveen is here to see you, Ambassador, shall I send her in?”
    Wilmot glanced at the handcrafted clock that President Nankool had sent in recognition of her work on a diplomatic reception, registered the fact that Vanderveen was right on time, and frowned in disappointment. She had already come to the conclusion that the FSO-4 was the only flaw in an otherwise perfect assignment.
    There were a number of things the diplomat didn’t like about Vanderveen, starting with her blond hair, and slimgood looks, qualities that were almost certain to make the ambassador seem less attractive by comparison. Just one of the reasons why Wilmot had a male secretary. Then, as if Vanderveen’s physical attributes weren’t bad enough, there was the fact that the FSO was the recipient of the Citizen’s Medal for Distinguished Service, a rather rare honor and one which the ambassador envied.
    Of course even the most promising career can be destroyed by a superior who is determined to bring it down, but to do so would incur the wrath of Charles Winther Vanderveen, Christine’s father, and an advisor to the president. All of which meant that it was best to tolerate the little bitch, look for an opportunity to transfer her to some hellhole, and bring in a more amenable staffer.
    Wilmot grabbed a fistful of hard copy, fanned it out in front of her, and touched the appropriate button. “Send her in.”
    One of two metal-core doors opened, and Vanderveen entered. Wilmot summoned her best, “I’m terribly busy but still pleased to see you” smiles, and said, “Good morning.” Vanderveen answered in kind and took one of two guest chairs. It faced the ambassador’s rather imposing desk and the huge window beyond. A low-flying air car zipped past, slowed as it approached a building to the south, and entered via a sixth-floor parking bay.
    Vanderveen noticed that all the objects on the surface of the ambassador’s desk had been chosen with care. There was the clock that Nankool had given her, a chunk of rock crystal from Earth, and a photo of her standing next to Earth’s governor.
    As for the woman herself, Wilmot appeared to be in her late thirties, was attractive rather than beautiful, and slightly overweight. Not much, only ten pounds or so, but just enough to exaggerate the roundness of her face and the fullness of her breasts. Physical attributes that the ambassadortook advantage of at times yet sought to hide at others, as if her chest was something of an embarrassment. Wilmot cleared her throat. “So, is the briefing ready?”
    Vanderveen nodded. “I sent a copy. If you would be so kind as to pull it up, we can review it.”
    â€œGood,” Wilmot said as she turned in the direction of her desk comp, “I’m looking forward to . . .”
    But Vanderveen never got to hear what the ambassador was looking forward to because that was the moment when the Prithian appeared outside the window, hit the hardened glass at full speed, and caused it to shatter. His body made a loud thump as it hit the floor. Wilmot screamed, and attempted to escape, only to have her chair fall over sideways.
    Vanderveen felt a sudden stab of fear, but, thanks to the rebellion on LaNor, had become somewhat inured to sudden violence. There was no mistaking Sok Tok’s yellow beak, white head feathers, and blue shoulder plumage. The translator issued a croaking sound as Vanderveen went to the Prithian’s aid. Though not a diplomat, Sok Tok was a member of the embassy’s staff, and Vanderveen liked him. One of the alien’s wings fluttered weakly, and the other was clearly broken. There was blood, a lot of blood, and Vanderveen called to Wilmot, who was up on her feet