The Lotus Eaters

Television Studio, Canal Seven, Ciudad Balboa, Terra Nova

Lourdes hadn't ridden in an armored vehicle since Artemisia's wedding. Then she had been afraid of soiling her dress. Now she just wanted the damned thing to move and to hell with her clothing. Menshikov had put her in his own Ocelot, ordering her to keep inside until further notice. Occasionally she heard gunfire, barely audible over the engine's roar. Twice she had seen the turret turn and a shower of smoking, stinking cartridge cases pour onto the floor of the track. Finally the track came to a stop, jarring her in its suddenness. The back doors opened. Menshikov again told her to stay put until further notice. Then he, with his RTO, dismounted.

The Volgans had discussed whether or not to demand surrender from any Balboans who might be guarding the TV station. They had decided there just wasn't time. "If we knew who was in on this and who was duped," Menshikov said, "we could ask for surrenders. As is, we just can't know and can't take the chance."

This, since the Garzas and their men were guarding the studio in all innocence, was the stuff of tragedy.

Assaulted suddenly and unexpectedly by three tanks, thirteen Ocelots, two rapid firing, four barreled rolling anti aircraft guns and sixty or so dismounted infantry, the platoon of the 7th Tercio hadn't lasted long. They might not have fought at all except that the Volgans who dismounted were all white and wore somewhat unfamiliar uniforms. They looked, if anything, Tauran. The Balboans hadn't even had the chance to call for help, it was over so quickly. Then again, they hadn't had even the possibility of being attacked mentioned to them. Nonetheless, after tank guns, lighter cannon, and explosives had blasted out windows and walls to let shrieking Volgans in, the men under the two Garzas, such as remained standing, had given a fair accounting of themselves. Not all the bodies carried out of the studio were Balboan, in the end.

Shortly after he had left her, Menshikov returned to the Ocelot. "Mrs. Carrera, it's over. Come now, quickly."

Lourdes dismounted and saw a few Volgans being treated for minor wounds. A couple of others were plainly dead. Others still were dragging Balboan bodies out of the way, perhaps twenty or so of them. Lourdes began to cry as a squad of Volgans clustered around her to shield her from even the chance of fire.

Menshikov led Lourdes upstairs. A number of civilian clad Balboan television workers were cowering on the floor when they arrived in the studio.

"On your feet, all of you!" Menshikov shouted. "Who's in charge!"

A wide eyed man, fortyish, identified himself timidly as the station chief.

"I want your hairdresser and makeup man," Menshikov said. "I want anybody necessary to run this studio. And I want any file shots you have of any of the projects to help the people Carrera and Parilla have started." Menshikov pointed towards Lourdes. "She's going to make a speech and if I think for a minute you're not doing everything you can to make it perfect, I'll hang you by your balls 'til they drop off. Clear?"

The studio chief's eyes grew wider still. He nodded emphatically, but said, "But the President of the Republic—well, President Rocaberti, anyway—is supposed to speak soon."

"Not over this fucking channel, he's not. Now move!"

The studio head began to issue orders to his people.