The synthetic voice of the lead legionnaire hung in the frozen air of the rotunda.
Inside the golden dome, sheer pandemonium erupted.
“Get them away from us!” Director Horace Henderson shrieked, scrambling backward on all fours across the raised platform. His silk tie dragged through spilled water, his face purple with terror.
“Vance, tell them! Tell the machines we’re the Board!”
Real-Estate Baroness Corinne Vane was screaming, clawing at her left breast with both hands.
Her polished acrylic nails tore through the fine wool of her lapel, frantically trying to pry loose the three-inch gold sunburst badge: FORM MUN-00-VIP. Blood welled beneath her torn fingernails, but the heavy metal badge didn’t budge by a fraction of a millimeter.
“It won’t come off!” she wailed, tears carving black tracks through her mascara. “Vance, it’s stuck! It’s burning me!”
“You fool!” Sterling spat, backing toward the mahogany throne as his own chest heaved. “I laminated the VIP credentials with permanent Admiralty resin!”
