Fighting had passed this way, too, and recently. Many of the buildings were still smoking, and many of the radions high above were either shot out or obscured by slowly drifting dust clouds. The acrid odor of radiation-remover was everywhere.
She caught the sound of spasmodic small-arm fire.
"What is that?" she asked the transport attendant.
"The Commandant is shooting prisoners," he replied laconically.
"Oh."
"Where did you want to go?"
"To the personnel office."
"That way." He pointed to the largest building of the group—two stories high, reasonably intact.
She walked off down the gravel path, which was stained here and there with dark sticky red. She gave her visa to the guard at the door and was admitted to an improvised waiting room, where another guard eyed her stonily. The firing was much nearer. She recognized the obscene coughs of a Faeg pistol and began to feel sick.
A woman in the green uniform of the Scythe auxiliary came in, whispered something to the guard, and then told Evelyn to follow her.