Deadley Image by Unknown Author

Author:Unknown Author
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-11-26T00:00:00+00:00

NINE

During the Niue Days Tranquilizer Buckingham Palace had been almost totally destroyed. But when the Republic of London was established as an autonomous estate, it was rebuilt— not as a home of royalty, since the hereditary succession no longer existed, but as a symbolic home of authority.

The new Palace bore no resemblance at all to its old-fashioned counterpart. Though it stood on exactly the same site at the junction of Constitution Hill and The Mall, gone forever were the frowning stone façade, the heavy portals and the drab, expressionless windows. Instead there rose an almost spherical structure whose outer shell was made entirely of glass bricks with each alternate face silvered, so that the total impression was of a ball of light rolled casually into the Palace Gardens.

At night an elaborate system of lighting made the Palace appear to rotate slowly with a steady and almost hypnotic glitter.

Though Markham had taken care to be there punctually for the President's reception, he saw by the number of helicars and jets that he was hardly among the first arrivals. He and Marion-A were met by an ornately liveried android who conducted them to one of the four massive hiduminium columns which rose from the ground to support the sphere at its horizontal diameter.

Each of the columns was hollow and contained a roomy elevator. Markham and Marion-A were shot up to the main balcony of the Palace where they were handed over to another android who escorted them through a semi-circular portico and two large anterooms, where people were converging on the Great Hall.

Presently they came to a large brass-faced door studded with tiny portholes of tinted glass and flanked by a couple of solemn uniformed androids, each holding an antique halberd. The door opened noiselessly as they approached and a majordomo was revealed on the other side. Markham stepped forward and presented his invitation card, whereupon the android rapped the floor ceremoniously with a silver rod and called out in a loud voice: “Mr. John Markham and P.A .”

Then, before he had time to take in his surroundings, Markham found himself face to face with the President of London.

Clement Bertrand was a broad-built, white-haired man in his early sixties. He had a pink, healthy complexion, and the smooth texture of his skin seemed to clash incongruously with the rest of his appearance. He wore a short black ceremonial jacket trimmed with ermine, a pair of knee-breeches, smooth white stockings and a pair of shoes with large gold buckles. He looked, thought Markham, like an oversized schoolboy in a period play.

“Evening lo,” said the President formally. There was a smile on his face but his eyes were shrewd and serious.

“Evening lo, sir,” responded Markham, bowing slightly as he had been instructed to do. “It was very kind of you to invite me.”

Clement Bertrand laughed. “Curious to see you, dear fellow. Vivain told me all about you. Said you were a decadent Puritan—whatever that might be. Expect the little vixen's looking for you somewhere. Now enter the throng and be socially osmotic.

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