THE LAST LEGION
by Chris Bunch



CHAPTER 1

Ross 248/Waughtal's Planet/Primeport

The police sweeper drifted past the alleyway, white faces under  helmets
inside staring straight ahead, disinterested.

Baka, Njangu Yoshitaro thought. He peered after them, saw the red-banded
gravsled lift over the dome where the street curved. Fools.

Njangu wore  dark brown  pants and  tunic, and  a roll-down  mask on his
head. He pulled it over his face, adjusted the eyeholes, and went out of
the alley.  The wide  boulevard was  deserted under  the hissing lights.
Some shop windows  were dark, more  were lit with  posturing mannequins,
furniture, tron  gear that  no one  in Yoshitaro's  district of Dockside
would ever own unless they stole it.

Njangu darted across the street to the steel-barred, blank doorway.  The
lock was a Ryart Mod 06. Not the hardest, not the easiest. Four  numeric
buttons. He would have three chances  before the lock either set off  an
alarm or froze, depending on the store owner's paranoia and budget.

Try easy. The factory setting  was 4783. He tried it,  nothing happened.
The owner thinks he's clever.  But his salesmen open for  him sometimes.
Perhaps... the shop's address was  213. Blank first, blank second?  Most
likely first.

He spun the dials, and the door clicked open.

Not that clever.

There were a  dozen clear-topped cases  in the thick-carpeted  room. The
half-sentient gems inside caught the light from the street, reflected it
back in moving,  kaleidoscopic splendor as    | they moved  like jeweled
snakes.

Njangu took a  com from his  pouch, touched a  transmit button, held  it
down for a count  of three, then a  count of one, then  three once more.
Half a dozen shadows ran silently toward the shop's yawning door.

Yoshitaro trotted out, not looking back. He'd see the others later,  get
his share.

He  ran  for three  long  blocks, then  turned  down a  dark  street. He
stripped off his hood,  gloves, stuffed them in  his belt pouch. He  was
walking quickly now, nothing but a tall, slender young man,  respectably
dressed, out a bit late, eager to get home and to bed.

The first  shot rang  dully from  behind him,  from the  boulevard, then
another  and  a third.  Someone  screamed, someone  shouted.  A metallic
hailer shouted orders, inaudible but official;

Shit!

Njangu unsnapped the belt pouch,  and took out a leather-bound  book. He
resealed the pouch with his  burglar's tools, pitched it under  a parked
gravsled, and went on, strolling now, his Tao-te ching held in prominent
view. The temple closed, what? An hour, no, an hour and a half ago.  You
missed the last trans, eh? Yes, and stopped at a vend for a snack.  See,
here's the wrapper in my pocket. Good.

It had better be.

He  made another  ten blocks  before the  spotlight caught  him  halfway
across the street, and the sweeper's guns spat coiling rope. One straint
caught him around  the waist, the  second pinned his  arms, and he  went
down. He rolled to his side, saw legs coming toward him, the outline  of
a blaster.

'Do not move,' the voice  said, hard, metallic, robotic. 'You  are being
restrained by a member of the Commonweal police as being under suspicion
and a possible threat  to life and public  safety. Any movement will  be
determined as life-threatening.'

He obeyed.

'Good. Don't even breathe.' The voice became almost human. 'Eh, Fran. We
have him.'

Another set of black legs came out of the police sweeper.

A boot nudged Njangu onto his back, a beam swept his brown face.

One  cop  dragged  the wiry  young  man  to his  feet  by  the straints.
Yoshitaro was taller than either of the men.

'Guess  you  didn't  have  squat  to  do  with  a  little  B&E  back  on
Giesebechstrasse, eh? 'Bout ten minutes gone?'

'I don't have any idea what you're talking about,' Njangu said.

'Yeh. Guess  you don't  know anybody  named Lo  Chen, Peredur,  or Huda,
either? Among some of your other friends we netted.'

Yoshitaro frowned, pretended thought, shook his head.

'Wonder if the eye we had floating got you?' one officer said gleefully.
'Not that it matters, since we found this on you.'

He took a pocket-blaster from his boot.

'What were you going to do with it?'

'Never seen it before,' Njangu blurted, cursed silently for letting them
draw him.

'You have now,' the second officer said. 'It fell out of your  waistband
when we  took you  down. Bad  charges, Yoshitaro.  Violation of  curfew,
being outside your  district, possession of  firearms, and I'm  not sure
but what you were trying to pull it on us.'

'He was, he was,' the other voice said. 'I saw it clear.'

'Attempted murder, then. Guess that'll be more than enough,eh?'

Njangu's face was calm, blank.

The  cop drove  a fist  into Yoshitaro's  stomach, pleasure-filled  eyes
never  leaving his  face. Njangu  caved in,  let himself  fall  forward,
turning to take the  fall on his shoulder.  As he fell, his  legs lashed
out, sweeping  across the  cop's calves.  The cop  screeched in pain and
surprise, fell, his flash rolling  away, sending swirls of light  across
the blank dark buildings around him.

Yoshitaro struggled to his  knees, had one foot  under him as the  other
cop came in, and Njangu saw the gloved fist smashing toward him.

Then nothing.

* * *

'It would seem,' the severe-faced  woman said, 'there's little point  in
my recommending this  matter be brought  to trial.' She  stared again at
three screens whose display was hidden from Yoshitaro.

'All evidence appears in order,  and your appointed defender advised  he
had nothing to offer on your behalf.'

Njangu's bruised face was stone.

'You've had quite  a career for  someone just eighteen,'  the woman went
on. 'I  think it's  a blessing  for the  Commonweal you  weren't able to
reach that pistol in time.'

She paused.

'Do you have anything to say for yourself, Stef Yoshitaro?'

'I do not recognize that name any longer.'

'So I understand. Very well. Njangu Yoshitaro.'

'I don't guess there's any point in saying anything, is there?'

'Show proper respect for the court,' the heavyset bailiff rumbled.

The judge touched other sensors.

'A long and  unattractive career,' she  mused. 'Beginning when  you were
just thirteen.  What happened  to you,  Njangu? The  file on your family
shows no reason for you to be what you are.'

It wouldn't. Mother never went out until the bruises went' down, and Dad
bought his synth all over the city or sometimes made his own. And Marita
would never tell anyone about our father's little nighttime visits.  No.
There's no good reason for me to be anything but what I am.

'Very well.  Do you  have anything  to say  for yourself?  Are there any
mitigating factors? The charges are most serious, even setting aside the
matter of  the attempted  robbery of  Van Cleef's  with your fellow gang
members. What I understand you hooligans call a clique.'

None you'd recognize.

'In consideration  of your  age,' the  woman said,  her voice formal, 'I
offer two options. The first, of course, is Conditioning.'

Condit? A voice inside your head  until you died, telling you just  what
to do. No spitting  on the sidewalk, Yoshitaro.  No alk. No drugs.  Work
hard,  Yoshitaro. Don't  criticize the  Commonweal. Tell  any  policeman
whatever he asks.  A guaranteed job,  dull eyes handling  other people's
credits and never thinking for a minute of slipping a handful into  your
own pocket for fear of that hidden voice.

I don't think so.

'The second is Transport for Life.'

It  couldn't  be  any  harder  on  the  prison  planetoid  than  here in
Primeport.

'You  may  have half  an  hour to  reach  a decision,'  the  woman said.
'Bailiff, escort this man to the holding cell.'

The man came toward Njangu, but he was already on his feet.

'I know the way.'

'Wait!'

The judge was opening another screen.

'There  is  another   alternative,  Yoshitaro,  which   I'd  momentarily
forgotten,' she said. 'We received a mandate a few days ago. Although  I
doubt if you'll consider it for even a moment.'



CHAPTER 2

Capella/Centrum

Alban Corfi, Chief of Procurement, Undeveloped Worlds, Elis Sector,  was
a  careful man.  He read  the entitlement  twice before  looking up  and
nodding at his superior, Procurement Head Pandur Meghavarna.

'Very unusual, sir,' he agreed.  'This is the what... thirtieth  request
for reinforcement  and   logistics  this   Strike  Force   Swift   Lance
pretentious name, that-out there on  the thin edge of nowhere's  sent in
this E-year?'

'Thirty-fourth, actually,' Meghavarna corrected.

'Something you might know, sir. All  the others were spiked for lack  of
proper priority,  unavailability of  equipment, improper  preparation of
forms, and such.  Why was this  one not only  allowed, but given  a Beta
priority?'

'An excellent question, Corfi, one  which I attempted to find  an answer
to.  I  received  none.  Perhaps  the  Lords  of  the  Confederation are
practicing their capriciousness.'

'Very well, sir,' Corfi said,  opening the file again. 'So  what exactly
do these noble frontiersmen think the Confederation is oh-so-willing and
unable to give them? As if  we aren't stretched to the limit  and beyond
already.

'Hmm.  Six  Nirvana-class  P-boats with  supply  train...  well, they'll
whistle through their ears  before they get any  of those. Every one  on
the assembly line is tabbed for the Riot Troops. Alpha priority.

'Thirty-five heavy lifters,  capable of carrying  ten K-tons or  greater
for  one  thousand  kis  or more...  I  seem  to  remember there's  some
reconditioned items we could allow them.

'Assorted assault lifters, gunships, and so forth. Impossible, but  with
that curious Beta priority I suppose  we'll have to give them what  they
want.

'Various other small vehicles, weapons, not a problem, not a problem...

'Twenty of  the Nana-class  strike boats?  How'd anyone  that far in the
outback even hear of those? They haven't even been formally accepted  by
the Fleet. Beta  priority, schmeta priority.  I hardly think  we need to
worry ourselves-'

'Look again,' his superior said. Corfi obeyed, and his eyebrows lifted a
trifle. That item was marked, in tiny green script, Approved, R.E.

'Well,' Corfi said, ashamed at his momentary lapse. 'So I was wrong.  If
He  has approved  the matter,  it's up  to Him  to justify  that to  his
superiors.' He sniffed, clearly distancing himself from future blame.

'Seven hundred  and fifty  trained men.  The men  they can have, heavens
knows we've  got enough  of them.  Take a  few thousand  more out of the
slums for all of me. But trained? Doesn't he know there's a peace on?'

Meghavarna let a smile come and go. 'What about transport?'

'I've  got  the  Malvern  about through  with  her  refit,'  Corfi said.
'Terrible waste of fuel and all, but with a skeleton crew...

'Yes, the Malvern. And we can  transship in a cycle, perhaps two.  Or as
soon as they release those precious Nanas.'

'Good,' Meghavarna approved. 'I assumed you could expedite the  matter.'
He rose. 'I was a bit worried when your assistant told me you weren't in
yet, knowing you live out toward Bosham.'

'I didn't even try  to go home last  night,' Corfi said. 'Stayed  at the
club, so I wouldn't get caught in the troubles.'

'What're they wanting this time?' Meghavarna asked. 'I don't really keep
up on civ doings.'

'Bread,  no  bread,  too  much  bread,  the  wrong  sort  of  bread,  or
something,' Corfi said indifferently. 'Does it matter?'

'Not really.'

Corfi saluted perfunctorily, left Meghavarna's office. He took the  drop
to the main  floor where his  bodyguards waited, then  rode the slideway
for half a mile to his offices.

He decided  he'd handpick  the Malvern's  crew using  his man in BuPers.
That couldn't rebound on him, no matter what happened, since no one with
sense  concerned  themselves  with  who  went  where  in  Transportation
Division.

A nice obedient crew... then he'd bounce the Malvern once, maybe  twice,
in various 'directions' before he jumped it toward its final destination
through Larix/Kura. That should keep his boots clean.

Corfi  reached his  office, told  his bodyguards  to take  a break-   he
wouldn't be needing them for an hour  or so. Corfi neatly hung his  body
armored  overtunic  on an  antique  wall rack,  unlocked  his safe,  and
removed the cleaner.  He swept the  office, found nothing  more than the
two standard bugs feeding prerecorded pap to Security, and keyed the vid
to his  assistant's line.  Corfi gave  the man  some meaningless orders,
while he  checked the  line with  the cleaner.  Still clean.  He touched
sensors.

The screen cleared, and he was  looking at a tiny garden. Curled  on its
synthetic moss  was a  young woman,  barely more  than a  girl. She  was
naked, and her ash-blondness was natural.

'Hi, darl,' she said throatily.

Corfi grinned. 'Suppose I was the bloc monitor?'

'He doesn't have my code,' she  said. 'I didn't expect to hear  from you
until tomorrow. I thought you were seeing the wife-o tonight.'

'I was,'  Corfi said.  'But seeing  you like  you are...  I guess  those
damned riots'll keep me at the office another night.'

'Pity,' the woman said. 'I'll be ready.'

'You can be  more than ready,'  Corfi said. 'Remember  that bracelet you
were looking at?'

'Ooo.'

'Suddenly we can afford it.'

The girl squealed in delight.

'I thought that'd make you happy,' Corfi said.

'Oh, I am, I am,  darl. Hurry home, so I  can show you just how  happy I
am.' She parted her thighs slightly, caressed herself.

'Got to go now,'  Corfi said, realizing he  was having a bit  of trouble
breathing. 'I've got some work to take care of.'

The girl smiled, and the screen blanked.

Corfi waited until he calmed, then touched sensors once more. The screen
blurred, became blank green. Again he keyed numbers, and the same  thing
happened.  At  the  third  screen  he  input  letters  and  numbers he'd
memorized several years  ago touched the  SEND sensor. The  transmission
would be bounced at least a dozen times before it reached Larix.

As soon as  he'd finished the  final group, he  broke contact and,  once
again, checked for a bug. Still nothing.

Alban Corfi, soon to be somewhat richer, was a very careful man.



CHAPTER 3

Altair/Klesura/Happy Vale

Tweg Mik Kerle stared glumly  out at perfection. Utterly blue  sky. Sky,
even if it was a little reddish, beautiful, with a scattering of clouds.
A  spring  breeze filtered  through  the open  door,  and Kerle  smelled
flowers, fresh hay, and, from somewhere, a woman's perfume.

He heard the tinkle of her laughter and snarled.

Perfection  all  around,  and  he  was  supposed  to  recruit  for   the
Confederation's Army. Why would anyone here want to enlist and go wallow
through the mud on some  armpit world where people were  actively trying
to kill her? Leave a place where everyone seemed to know his place  and,
worse yet, like it? A place where all the women were gorgeous and happy,
and the men stalwart and good-tempered?

Like that  oaf looking  in the  window at  Kerle's carefully  spread-out
exhibits. Here a tiny uniformed tweg ordered her twenty soldiers through
a fascinating confidence course, there a cent was receiving a medal from
his caud,  while his  hundred stood  in stiff  ranks behind,  and in the
center three strikers busied themselves  learning some sort of  electron
trade. He'd gape at the tiny mannequins, then guffaw and go harvest  his
turnips or whatever he harvested.

Kerle moaned,  still looking  at the  bumpkin. Tall,  almost two meters.
Well-built.  Good  muscles.  Blond.  Human  to  the  nth classification.
Handsome,  the  sort  men  would  follow  anywhere,  given  a  few years
seasoning. A recruiting poster sort of yokel.

Don't walk away, boy. Come on through those doors and help a poor  tired
tweg make his quota.

Kerle goggled. The yokel was walking through the door.

The recruiter came to  his feet, beaming, well-rehearsed  camaraderie in
gear, while the back  of his brain told  him the young man  had no doubt
just slipped away from the nearest home for the terminally confused.

'Good aft, friend.'

''Day,' the young man said. 'I'm interested in joining up.'

'Well,  this is  certainly the  place,' Kerle  said. 'And  you'll  never
regret it if you do. The Confederation needs good men, and will make you
proud you decided to serve your government.'

'What I'm really interested in is travel.'

'Then the Confederation is your ticket. I've seen twenty, thirty worlds,
and I've only been in ten years, made tweg in the first four, and should
be up for  senior tweg when  the next promotion  list comes out,'  Kerle
said. 'Not that you have to enlist for that long. Standard term is  only
four Earth-years.'

'Reasonable.' Garvin Jaansma  said. 'Gives everyone  a chance to  see if
they get along.'

'Any particular trade or skill you'd be interested in?'

'I'm not much on  working inside. Prefer to  be outdoors if I  can. What
about that?' The young man was  pointing at a small model of  an assault
lifter. Kerle picked it up.

'That's  a  Grierson.  Used  in  Armored  Infantry.  The  Grierson's the
standard  assault  vehicle, called  an  Aerial Combat  Vehicle,  an ACV.
Carries two  attack teams.  Chainguns here  and here.  Rocket pod  here.
There's a  whole lot  of different  configurations. Ultrareliable.  Dual
antigrav units under  here, give it  about a thousand  meters overground
lift. We use it for patrols, or attack. In the assault it'd be backed up
with heavy lifters, gunships like that  model of a Zhukov there, and  of
course there'd be other assault lifters with it. You can even modify  it
into an in-system spaceship. You could  command one of these in a  year.
maybe less.  Five million  credits the  Confederation'd trust  you with.
Plus twenty men's  lives, which is  the real price.  Not many jobs  give
someone  your age  that kind  of responsibility,'  Kerle said,  sounding
truly impressed.

'Sounds interesting,' Jaansma said.

'A couple of things first,' Kerle  said, toes curling inside his  mirror
bright boots, anticipating the bad news. 'Have you talked to your family
about this?'

'They  don't mind,'  Jaansma said.  'Whatever I  think is  best for   me
they'll go along with. Anyway, I'm eighteen, so it's my decision,  isn't
it?'

'The first  big one  you can  make,' Kerle  agreed. 'Another question. I
don't suppose you've had any trouble with the authorities?'

'None at all.' The answer came quickly.

'You're sure? Not even a joyriding  or maybe a fight or two,  or getting
caught  with  alk  or a  snort?  If  it's minor,  we  can  generally get
clearance.'

'Nothing whatsoever.'

The young man's smile was open, sincere.



CHAPTER 4

Capello/Centrum

The  Malvern bulged  far overhead,  dwarfing the  line of  men  trudging
toward its gangway. Garvin Jaansma gaped upward.

'Move along,  dungboot,' a  cadreman snapped.  'The Confederation  don't
want you to break your neck before you even get trained.'

'Good advice, Finf,'  a voice  grated, 'you  being the  experienced star
rover and all. I'm surely admiring all your decorations and such.'

The junior noncom flushed. His uniform breast was as slick as his shaven
head. 'Quiet, you.'

The man who'd spoken stared hard, and the finf flinched back as if  he'd
been struck.

'Keep on moving,' he muttered, and scurried away.

The man was big  in any direction, not  fat, but heavy, solid.  His face
was set in  a perpetual scowl  under his forward-combed,  thinning black
hair. A scar ran down one cheek and faded out in the middle of his thick
neck. He appeared  to be in  his early thirties.  He wore unshined  half
boots, heavy black canvas dungarees, a green tunic that would have  been
expensive new, sometime ago, and had a small, battered bag at his  feet.
There was a military-looking stencil on it: KIPCHAK, PETR.

He eyed Jaansma and the recruit beside him, snorted, and turned away.

'I want to learn how to do that,' the other recruit said in a low voice.

'Do what?'

'Melt 'em with  a look like  that guy did.  Cheaper'n a blaster  and not
nearly as convictable.'

Garvin  extended his  hand, palm  up, and  the other  man repeated   the
greeting.

'Garvin Jaansma.'

'Njangu Yoshitaro.'

Garvin considered the other young man, who was about his age and height,
dark-skinned with close-cropped black hair and Asiatic features. He wore
charcoal trousers  and a  pale green  shirt. Both  fit poorly and looked
cheap. He  had a  collarless wind-breaker  over his  shoulder. Yoshitaro
reminded Jaansma of an alert fox or hoonsmeer.

'Did anybody say where we're going?' he asked.

'Of course  not,' Njangu  said. 'Recruit  scum don't  get told shit 'til
they have to know  it, which I guess'll  be whenever we get  where we're
going.'

'What about training?' Jaansma said.  'I enlisted for Armor. and  so far
all I've done is polish toilets.'

The older man turned back.

'And  that's  all  you'll do  'til  you  get to  your  parent  unit. The
Confederation's got a new policy. They ship your young ass to your  home
regiment, and let them whip you into shape.'

'That isn't the way it is in the holos,' Njangu said.

'Damn little is,' the man said. 'It's 'cause the Confederation's falling
apart, and  they don't  have time  or money  to take  care of the little
things like they used to.'

'Falling apart?' Garvin said incredulously. 'Come on!'

Garvin had seen troubles in his wanderings, but the Confederation itself
in trouble? That was like saying the stars were burning out tomorrow, or
night might not follow day. The Confederation had existed for more  than
a thousand years, and would no doubt exist for another ten thousand.

'I spoke clearly,'  Kipchak said. 'Falling  apart. The reason  you don't
see it is because you're right at the center of things You think an  ant
knows somebody's about  to dump boiling  water on its  nest? Or a  wygor
ever realizes what the skinner wants?'

Neither young man understood the references.

'What do you think all the riots are about?' he went on.

'What riots?'

'You didn't watch any 'casts while you were farting around in the 'cruit
barracks?'

'Uh... no,' Yoshitaro said. 'I don't pay much attention to the news.'

'Better start. A good holo-flash'll generally clue you how deep the shit
is you're about to get tossed into, and maybe even give you time to pack
hip boots.

'People are rioting,  tearing things up  because they can't  get things.
Centrum  being  a  high-class  admin  center,  nobody  bothers  to  grow
anything. Which means everything from biscuits to buttwipe gets  shipped
in, not produced locally.  Since the system's showing  cracks, sometimes
those shipments don't get here in time for dinner.

'It's real hard to accept you're on the greatest planet in the universe,
like the holos say, if you can't afford beans and bacon.'

'How  come  you  know  so  much,  anyway?'  Njangu  said,  just  a   bit
billigerently.

This time the  look came at  him. But he  didn't quail. Kipchak  let his
glower fade down.

''Cause I  pay attention,'  he said.  'Something you  better learn.  For
instance, I  could tell  you where  we're going,  what unit we're headed
for, and even what the pol/sci setup  is there. If I wanted to. Which  I
don't, much.' Perhaps he was about  to add more, but they'd reached  the
ship's gangway.

'Your name and homeworld,' a synthed voice intoned.

'Petr Kipchak,' he growled. 'Centrum, when it suits me.'

'Noted,' the robot said. 'Compartment sixteen. Take any bunk. Next.'

And the huge Malvern swallowed them.


The compartment stretched into dimness. It was filled with endless  four
high rows of bunks, with small  lockers under the bottom one, and,  like
the rest of  the ship, was  spotless and smelled  of fresh paint.  Fresh
paint and an incongruous odor of dust, as if the Malvern was an antique.

The recruits were ordered by a harried-looking crewman to strap down  in
their bunks and stand by for lift.

The Malvern came alive, a deep hum reverberating through every deck. The
deck speaker said, 'Stand  by.' The hum grew  deeper until it made  your
bones sing, and the Malvern shuddered.

'Are we in space?' Njangu asked.

'I think so, but-'

The  speaker interrupted  Garvin, and  said, 'Stand  by for  jump,'  and
moments later the slight nausea,  disorientation came, and they were  in
stardrive.   They  waited   to  see   what  would   happen  next,   but,
characteristic of space travel, nothing did.

'Let's go see what there's to see,' Garvin said, unstrapping.

'I thought we'd be in zero gravity,' Njangu complained.

'Be grateful we're not,' Garvin  said. 'Lots of people's stomachs  would
be real unhappy, and I don't get my thrills swabbing up puke in midair.'

'Oh  yeh?' Njangu  said. 'You  been out  before?' The  phrase, heard  on
holos, rang tastily on his tongue.

Garvin smiled, shrugged, and led the way out of the compartment.

There wasn't much to see. More crew bays, deserted assembly areas,  long
corridors  looking like  the one  they'd just  left. There  weren't  any
viewports, even on the outer decks, and neither Njangu nor Garvin  could
figure out how to operate the occasional screen they came upon.

Njangu stopped at one compartment hatch labeled LIBRARY.

'Let's go educate ourselves, like that goon told us we were supposed  to
do.'

Low  tables  lined  the  walls,  with  screens  and  keypads  at regular
intervals. Njangu sat behind one, touched a key. The screen lit:

ENTER REQUEST

'What?'

'Try, uh, destination,' Jaansma suggested.

Yoshitaro touched keys.

THAT IS NOT A PERMITTED REQUEST. TRY AGAIN.

'What about where  we've been? Do  what Scarface suggested  and see what
the holos say about riots.'

''Kay.'

A line scrolled across the screen: BASHEES NG, SERMON CON-FED PUNDITS.

'Huh?'

Another line: BOSHAM RADS 4 STUN; then a third: LOK BLOOIES

TURN WUNKIES BAK, 32 BAGGED, 170 INJ.

'I'm getting the feeling I don't speak Confederation,' Njangu said.

'Guess the joumohs have their own shorthand, maybe?' A rather voluptuous
young woman smiled out. She wore nothing at all. Another line  scrolled:
PROKKY SEZ WORRY NU, SPORTY ALWAYS.

'Well good for ol' Prokky,' Garvin said. 'I'd sure sporty with her.'

'Wonder if we'll find something  like her where we're going,'  Yoshitaro
said.

'If we do,  she'll be officers  only,' Garvin said.  'The hell with  it.
Let's get eddicated later.'

A crewman hurrying past spotted them.

'You two.'

They stopped.

'What're you doing outside your compartment?'

'Nobody said we couldn't,' Jaansma said.

'Nobody said you could, either,' the sailor snapped. 'And I just  happen
to need two servers in the mess hall. Let's go.'

Without  waiting  for a  response,  he turned  and  went back  down  the
corridor, obviously expecting them to follow. Njangu and Garvin  glanced
at each other, then obeyed.

'What is this?' Jaansma said. 'Everything not ordered is forbidden?'

'I think we're starting to understand things,' Njangu said wryly.


On the third ship-day, they were ordered to pack their civilian  clothes
and issued gray tunics and pants, and soft-soled boots that strapped  at
the ankles. There were no patches, no insignia, not even name tags.

'We look like damned prisoners,' Garvin said.

'No we don't,' Njangu disagreed. 'Prisoners wear red.'

'Thank you for the educational information, sir.'

'Quite welcome.'

'By the way,' Garvin said carefully, 'that outfit you were wearing?'

'Yeh?' Yoshitaro's voice was flat.

'You, uh, don't look like the sort who'd wear something like. that.'

'What do you mean?'

'You look like you'd thread a little better style.'

'I would. I did. But I didn't have any choice. Somebody bought my outfit
before  I shipped  out,' Njangu  said. His  expression didn't  encourage
Garvin to ask more.


The ship schedule was simple: Stand  in line to eat, exercise, stand  in
line to eat again,  eat, try to find  somebody to talk to  or game with,
stand in line to eat, eat, sleep... and the days ground past.

Petr Kipchak had a  bunk at the far  end of the compartment,  but he was
uninterested in making friends. He was either in a rec area, working out
on the  weight machines  for endless  hours, or  in his  bunk, reading a
disk, completely engrossed.


'Dunno if I agree with this monosexual 'freshing,' Njangu muttered.

'Why not?'

'Liable to give some of us ideas.'

'Naah,' Garvin said.  'They put something  in the food  to keep it  from
happening.'

'Hey,' Yoshitaro said. 'You're right.  I haven't had a hard  since we've
been shipboard!'

'See? Just listen to Uncle Garvin, and you'll know everything in time.'


'Allah with a yo-yo,' the recruit named Maev gasped. 'You won't  believe
this.'

'What?' Garvin and Njangu rolled out of their bunks. 'C'mon. You've  got
to see it.' Maev beckoned them  to the refresher, which was nearly  full
of men and women getting ready for the third-meal.

She pointed to one shower cubicle, large enough for a dozen people.  But
there was only one in  it-Petr Kipchak, who appeared oblivious  to their
attention.

Garvin was about to  ask what was so  special, when he saw.  Kipchak was
busily washing his  genitalia with one  of the stiff  nylon brushes they
used to scrub the shower walls and singing loudly off key.

'Good flippin' gods!' Garvin blurted, and the three retreated as Kipchak
raised his head.

'What the hell... th' bastard's mental!' Maev said. Njangu was about  to
agree, then  realized-as he'd  ducked back  around the  comer, he'd seen
something very much  like a smile  on the burly  man's face. One  way to
have a little privacy, he thought, and hid his amusement.


Garvin was awakened  by a series  of double-dings he'd  learned told the
time to the Malvern's crew. It  was deep in the ship's sleep  cycle, and
there were snores, some light, some hearty, around the compartment.

It was dark except for the dull red ready lights on the bulkheads,  and,
at the end of the room, white light from the refresher.

He sleepily decided he was thirsty and padded into the refresher.

It was  deserted but  for four  men, two  women. One  woman stood by the
hatchway on lookout, the other five sat or squatted around two  blankets
spread on the plas-slotted deck.  All were older recruits. One  was Petr
Kipchak.

There were money and cards on the blankets. Kipchak had only a few bills
and some  coins, while  the dealer  had a  wad of  currency from a dozen
worlds.

The five eyed Garvin. But he showed no particular interest, and went  to
the urinal. His expression flickered suddenly as he watched the game out
of the corner of his eye, then became calm, innocent once more.

He finished, drank water from a  tap, walked back by the game.  One man,
the dealer, a heavyset, balding man, looked up.

'Go to bed, sonny. This is way over your head.'

'Children's money's not good, huh?' Garvin asked.

The  dealer started  to snap,  then smiled,  a rather  nasty smirk.   He
evaluated Jaansma,  absently twisting  a large  silver ring  on his left
hand back and forth. Finally, he said, 'You wanna get burned, it's  your
business. I got no objections. Anybody else?'

Kipchak seemed about to say  something, then shook his head.  The others
shrugged or nodded as well.

'Table stakes, so you best be ready for some hard ridin', troop, and  no
sinvelin' when we wipe you out,' the dealer said. 'Go get your stash.'

Garvin  went to  his bunk,  spun the  combination wheels  on his   small
carryall, took out a pair of socks. Inside was a thick roll of bills. He
dressed hurriedly, making sure his boots were carefully strapped.

Njangu's eyes were open. 'What's going on?'

'There's a game back in the refresher. Thought I' d get in it.'

'Didn't think you were a gambler.'

'I'm not.' Jaansma  hesitated. 'And neither  is the guy  with the cards.
He's a mechanic.'

Njangu sat up. 'What're you gonna do about it?'

'Make me some money.'

'Be careful.'

'I'm always...' Jaansma broke off, thought a minute. 'You want in on the
action?'

'I don't play cards.'

'You don't have to. Look, I just  got an idea that'll make for a  lot of
fun for everybody.'

Garvin spoke in low, quick tones. Njangu frowned, then started grinning.

'One question,' he said. 'Why're we doing this? It could mean trouble.'

'Didn't you just answer your own question?'

'Maybe I did,' Yoshitaro said. 'Sure. We can do it like that.'

Jaansma peeled some bills from the roll.

'Here. Give me, oh, fifteen minutes.'


Garvin curled the five cards in  his hand, examined them. Not good,  not
bad. This was the fourth hand he'd played. He'd dropped out of two,  bet
on one and lost.

'Ten credits to play,' the woman said, and tossed a bill into the center
of the blanket.

Garvin tossed two coins  on top of the  ante, and other notes  followed.
Three players, including Kipchak, stayed in.

'Go ahead, kid,' the dealer said. 'You're off.'

'I take one,' Jaansma said, discarding and taking a single card from the
five-card widow, and the dealer replaced it from the deck in his hand.

'No help,' he sighed, and tossed his hand into the discards

Betting went around twice, and Kipchak took the small pot.

The  dealer was  shuffling when  Yoshitaro slipped  in. 'Hey,  Kipchak,'
Njangu  said.  'I've  got  the  money  I  owe  you.  Found  a  dice game
yesterday.'

Petr  blinked,  looked  hard  at Njangu,  was  about  to  say something.
Yoshitaro moved his head slightly up, down.

'Oh. Yeah. Hold my place.' Kipchak got up.

'I got it in my bag,' Njangu said, and the two went out.

Another hand was dealt, and the dealer won.

Petr and  Njangu came  back in.  Kipchak's face  was dark,  stormy, then
calmed. He sat down, and Njangu leaned against a bulkhead, not far  from
the lookout, someone who couldn't sleep and was boredly kibitzing.

The game went on for another hour. Garvin noted that one man licked  his
lips when he was  bluffing, the woman pulled  absently at a lock  of her
hair when she had a strong hand, other traits. But mostly he watched the
dealer.  The  luck went  back  and forth,  but  the credits  slowly  and
steadily flowed toward the heavy man with the ring.

Finally Garvin  stretched his  legs, and  happened to  tap Petr with his
toe.

''Scuse me,' he said. Kipchak didn't answer.

'Wisht we had  some quill,' a  man grumbled. 'Losin'  like I'm doin'  is
easier if you're not too sober.'

The dealer swept up the cards, shuffled them hastily.

'Mind if I cut?' Jaansma said.

'No,' the dealer said shortly. 'You're  right.' He set the deck down  on
the blanket.

'Deep and weep, thin and win,' somebody intoned.

Garvin picked  up the  deck in  one hand,  cut it  smoothly. The  dealer
looked at him carefully, took the deck, and cards flicked out.

It  was  quiet  in  the  refresher except  for  the  soft  whine  of the
conditioner fans, and the snap of the cards being dealt, the sound a bit
louder than it might've been.

The dealer's lips quirked when he picked up his hand. 'This one's got to
be expensive,' he  announced. He picked  up bills. 'One  hundred even to
see if I'm braggin'.'

'I'll play,' Kipchak said, and put most of his small reserve in the pot.

'Me too,' Garvin agreed.

Two others stayed, two tossed in their hands.

'I'm taking two cards,' Jaansma said, and his hand passed over the widow
as he discarded. His expression didn't change when he picked up the  new
cards.

'Dealer takes one.'

'I'll fly these,' Kipchak said, and stood pat.

The woman took two, the remaining man three.

'Another hundred,' the dealer said.

The woman dropped out, the remaining man increased the bet.

'I think I'm lucky,' Jaansma said. 'Up two hundred.'

'And a hundred back at you,' Petr said.

'Like I said, expensive,' the  dealer said. ''Sides, it's getting  late.
Don't want  to spoil  my complexion  with late  hours.' He  counted. 'Up
five... six hundred.'

'The kid's going to be foolish,' Garvin said, and peeled bills into  the
stack. 'And up two hundred on you.'

'I'm short,' Petr said.

'No problem,'  Njangu said,  coming away  from the  bulkhead and  taking
notes from his pocket. 'Your credit's good.'

'Thanks.'

The dealer  laughed unpleasantly.  'I think  I'm gonna  sleep real, real
good.' He flipped  his hand onto  the table. All  five were of  a single
color.

'Guess  that  does it,'  and  he reached  for  the money.  'High  to the
Protector.'

'Not  quite.'  And  Petr  slowly tossed  cards  faceup  on  the blanket.
'Ruler... Ruler... Ruler... Ruler... and the Alien for a fifth.'

The dealer's eyes went  wide. 'You weren't-' and  his hand went for  his
back pocket.

'Rube!' Garvin snapped, coming to his feet.

Light glinted as a tiny steel dart flickered across the blanket,  buried
itself in the dealer's forearm. He yelped, and blood spurted.

The lookout came forward, a short length of pipe appearing in her  hand.
Njangu sidestepped  into her,  and snapped  a backhand  strike into  her
temple. She tumbled across a player, lay still.

Another man  was getting  up, and  Garvin drove  a punch  into his solar
plexus, then smashed the back of  his hand into the man's skull,  and he
went down.

The dealer  stared at  his blood-runneling  arm, the  knife still buried
near his elbow. Petr pulled the dart free, and again the man screeched.

The  other  players were  motionless,  arms raised  to  their shoulders,
fingers splayed.

Yoshitaro  glanced  into  the troop  bay.  'Nobody  heard anything,'  he
reported.

Peter wiped the tiny knife clean, made it vanish. 'Don't like cheaters,'
he said. 'Maybe I oughta slice your tendons for you. Play hell with your
card game.'

The dealer moaned, shook his head pleadingly.

'You people see anything tonight, or  did you go to bed early?'  Kipchak
asked.

Heads were vigorously shaken.

The  lookout got  to her  knees, coughed,  and threw  up. She  staggered
toward a toilet. The man Garvin had hit lay motionless.

'You kill him?' Petr asked, not sounding worried.

'No,' Jaansma said. 'He'll wake up in an hour, and be sick like she  is,
but nothing lasting.'

'Good. We  don't need  any courts-martial,'  Petr said.  'Now, isn't  it
bedtime for you folks?'

The players hurried out.

Petr pulled the dealer to his feet. 'You go on sick call, and swear  you
slipped and fell  against a hatch  dog. Got it?  Anything different, and
there'll be two witnesses who'll call you liar when we get to D-Cumbre.

'And then  you'd better  grow eyes  in the  back of  your head,  which I
understand makes a feller nervous after a while.'

'Nothin' happened,' the dealer babbled. 'It's like you said. I swear,  I
swear.'

'Good. Here. Take this towel and go find a medic.'

'Not quite yet,' Garvin said. 'For there's still a lesson to be  learned
before  we  offer  our  final  benedictions.'  He  spoke  in   measured,
liturgical tones. 'My man here has not yet learned how we discovered his
villainy, and perhaps he could benefit from that information.'

'Don't tell the bastard,' Kipchak said. 'Then he'll do better next time,
and rook another set of fools.'

'Not to worry,'  Jaansma said lightly.  'For knaves such  as he, there's
never a lesson to be learned until the final one.

'I first noted this  man because of the  sound. Sound, you say,  looking
puzzled.  Yes, sound,'  he went  on pedantically,  'for when  a man   is
dealing seconds, that is dealing the second card instead of the top card
of the deck, there's a certain sinful sibilance to be sensed.' He picked
up the scattered cards, reassembled them.

'Listen, and you, too, shall be  enlightened. Note how I hold this  deck
of cards, and observe  well, as I hold  this top card in  place with the
thumb of  my left  hand, and  flick out  the second  card with  my index
finger and thumb of my right, there's a certain noise to be apprehended.
Yes?

'Now, my second clue was that obnoxious silver ring the wastrel wears.'

He grabbed the dealer's left hand, and pulled the ring from his finger.

'Notice, it doesn't even fit  properly, which would suggest he  acquired
it from some equally devious sort  before we lifted. I noted he  was not
only turning it about his finger, but incessantly polishing it. So  when
he held the deck in his right  hand, waving it about, like so, he  could
push  out the  top card  a bit,   see by  its reflection  if it  was  of
interest,  and then  retain it  by dealing  seconds until  he wished  to
possess it.

'The lookout  was in  on the  graft certainly,  and the  mark I  dropped
might've been. Or maybe not,' Jaansma said indifferently.

'Maybe we ought to break this guy's thumbs,' Njangu said.

'We could  do that,'  Jaansma said,  and the  dealer moaned again. 'He's
truly a malicious miscreant motivated into mopery by moroseness. But  it
might be as devastating for me to show him something.

'Look,  you.  You  think  you're a  shark,  eh?  Or  some other  equally
predatory creature. But you should learn there are always bigger  sharks
in any ocean.

'Observe. I take the deck, and shuffle it once. You saw, heard,  nothing
untoward?

'But watch. I will deal the top five cards.'

Each card snapped as it came off the deck.

'Protector... Protector... Protector... Protector  kicker. Not at all  a
bad  hand. But  I shuffle  it once  more. Now  the top  five cards   are
Companion... Companion...  Companion... Companion  and a  ten. A  better
hand. You would be inclined to bet such a hand like that hard,  wouldn't
you?

'You don't have to answer. But here is the hand I happen to draw.'  Five
more cards snapped  off the deck.  'Nova... Nova... Nova...  Nova... and
how did  that Alien  show up  once again?  I thought  it was in the last
hand.

'You see? But of course you don't.' Jaansma's tone went back to  normal.
'He's yours, Kipchak.'

'Go  on,  get!'  Petr  snapped,  and the  dealer  half  ran  out  of the
compartment, clutching the blood-soaked towel.

'Gamblin'll be the death of me,' Kipchak said. 'Thanks. I owe you.'

'No problem,' Jaansma said.

'Why'd you get involved?'

'Because,' Garvin said, 'of my deep abiding love for Truth, Justice, and
the Confederation Way.'

Njangu snorted.

'All right,' Kipchak said. 'Another  question. There was a little  blood
got spilled tonight. Neither one of you seemed real bothered by it. That
ain't like most 'emits I've met.'

Both young men  looked at Kipchak,  and their expressions  wore the same
amount of utter innocence.

'Mary on a pong-stick,' Kipchak swore. 'You two could be brothers.'


'My turn,' Yoshitaro said. 'Where'd you learn to spot somebody  cheating
like that?'

'I read about it in a book somewhere.'

'The same place you learned to deal like you did?'

'That's right.'

'What about  the fancy  talking? You  sound like  a god-shouter, or some
kind of circus hustler.'

'That's  what  I  am,'  Garvin  said.  'I've  secretly  enlisted  in the
Confederation  to bring  sinners into  the welcoming  hand of  the  Lord
Pigsny.'

'Never heard of him.'

'That's why I became a missionary. Our sect isn't doing very well.'

'Do you  ever give  a straight  answer to  anything?' Yoshitaro asked in
disgust. 'Like who was this Rube you were shouting to when the  fighting
started?'

After a moment, a low, sincere snore answered him.


Petr stopped them the next 'morning.'

'Wanted to thank you two clowns,' he said. 'I would've chased every last
credit down that rathole if you hadn't gotten interested.'

'Forget about it,' Jaansma said. 'I was having trouble sleeping.'

'Yeh.' Kipchak said. 'Anyway, I owe you.'

He didn't wait for a response, but pushed away through the crowd.

'So  now  we've  got  a  debt  of  honor  with  Scarface,'  Garvin said.
'Whoopie.'

'Don't slam it,' Njangu said. 'We might need a throat slit someday.'


The  Malvern  came out  of  N-space, and  its  nav-computer checked  its
position. It was on course.

A few minutes later, it shimmered and vanished on its next-to-last  jump
before the Cumbre system.


''Kay,' Petr  said. 'Our  destination's D-Cumbre.  It's a  Confederation
World, has a Planetary Government-a  governor general plus some kind  of
council to advise him. Probably all the crooks with old money.'

'What's our unit?'

'It's supposed to be about  ten thousand men. Called Strike  Force Swift
Lance.' Petr shrugged. 'Officers like flash names

'Our caud's somebody  named Williams. Couldn't  Find anything out  about
him.

'The unit's assigned mission is keeping the peace.'

'Against who?' Njangu asked.

'It seems to be a little complicated,' Kipchak said. 'D-Cumbre's  geetus
is in  mining another  world. C-Cumbre,  as I  recall. The pick-swingers
mostly come from a whole  group of immigrants called 'Raum.'  He gargled
the initial consonant. 'Spelled with a single mark in front, so you  can
tell it ain't pronounced like real people talk.

'The 'Raum came  to C-Cumbre a  few hundred years  ago, my man  told me.
Believed they oughta own the  universe. Instead, they're doon th'  mine,
like they  say, which  is where  most fanatics  belong, working  for the
smarter crooks who got there first.

'Guess some of 'em don't like the swing of things, so they're running up
and down  in the  hills playing  bandit and  snipin' anybody who doesn't
agree with 'em.

'That'll be one of our targets, I s'pose.'

'How do  we tell  them apart  from the  people we're  defending?' Garvin
asked.

'Hopefully  because  they're  shooting  at  our  young  asses,'  Kipchak
answered. 'But  they're supposed  to be  shorter, stockier,  darker and,
according to those who call  themselves their betters, with all  the bad
habits anybody who's unlucky enough to be dealt the bottom card has.

'Anyway, the big  squeaker is the  mines are worked  both by men  and by
Musth.'

'What're they?' Njangu  asked. 'I never  paid much attention  to aliens.
Never saw one to steal something from, I guess.'

'Big tall creatures,' Garvin said. 'I saw a holo on them. They look like
big, skinny cats walking  on two legs. Got  a long ' neck,  as I recall,
and  moved real  fast. They  looked like  they could  be bad  news in  a
fight.'

'That's them,' Petr agreed. 'They're supposed to be as touchy as a whore
the night before the troops get paid. I've never been around 'em, but  a
mate of mine has, and he said they're real quick to get nasty.

'Anyway, that's about all I know.'

'Can I ask you something?' Njangu said.

'I said I owe you.'

'You've been in the service before?'

'Yeh. I join up, get pissed off, get out, can't stand the way  civilians
piddle around, join  up again... guess  I oughta go  one or the  other,'
Kipchak sighed. 'Tried settlin' down once or twice, but it didn't stick.

'Maybe this time I'll just stay in.'

'What...  I don't  know what  to call  it exactly,  what branch  do  you
generally serve with?' Yoshitaro asked.

'There's only one to think about, far as I'm concerned. Intelligence an'
Recon. Snoopin' and  poopin', we call  it. Prob'ly be  some of my  mates
from other times there. I&R's a small world, because most soldiers think
we're brain-dead and suicidal.

'You operate by yourself or with a small team, so any ambush you end  up
in's your own fault, instead of  stumbling along with a turd of  hurtles
like a common footso'jer does, or  zooming into a hot landing zone  with
every other squid in a Strike Force.

'Still not  a bad  way to  get killed,  though. If  I had  a brain,  I'd
prob'ly go for Supply or Cooking.

'Appears Ma Kipchak raised herself a rock-solid fool.'


'Say, Njangu?'

Yoshitaro looked up from the disk he was reading. It was Maev.

'Ye-up?'

'I've got a problem with my bunk chain,' she said. 'Damned thing's got a
kink, and I  keep hitting it  with my head.  Could you see  if you could
yank it out or something?'

'Sure.' Njangu slid out of his bunk and followed the small redhead.

Petr and  Garvin sat  cross-legged on  Kipchak's bunk,  a small magnetic
chessboard between them. Njangu grinned as he went by.

'Hmm,' Garvin said. 'White Queen takes Black Rook, I suspect.'

'What're you talkin'  about?' Kipchak demanded.  'Your queen's not  even
close to my castle.'

'Never mind, never mind.'

*   *   *

Something woke Njangu. It took a minute for him to realize where he was.
Maev was lying on the inside of the bunk, half-smiling in her dream. Her
hand was between Yoshitaro's thighs. Her hair was very dark in the ready
lights.

Neither of  them had  bothered with  the third-meal,  and had eventually
fallen asleep from pure exhaustion.

Njangu felt himself stir, ran a finger down her sleek side, and caressed
her thighs.  Without waking,  she lifted  her leg,  half rolled onto her
back.

The  loudspeaker  blared:  'All hands...  a//  hands...  report to  your
Emergency Positions. '

Njangu was out of the bunk, grabbing for his clothes.

Maev blinked sleepily. 'What's going on?'

'Hell if I know. But we better get back with the others.'

She dressed hastily.


'All hands... all hands.  Stand by to be  boarded. Warning. Do not  make
any attempt to resist. I say again, do not make any attempt to resist.'

'You got any idea what's going on?' Yoshitaro asked.

Garvin shook his head.

'We're still in stardrive, aren't we?'

'Yeh.'

'How could anybody... another ship...  get this close to us?'  Yoshitaro
wondered. Jaansma shook his head again.

'They could if they  had a tracker waiting  for us in N-space,'  Kipchak
said grimly. 'Or if they had our plot.'

'What does that mean?' Njangu asked.

'It means it ain't gonna  be good,' Kipchak said. 'Especially  with that
bit about not resisting.'

The Malvern shuddered. 'Somebody comin' alongside,' Kipchak said. 'Not a
bad trick in N-space. Damned near impossible unless you've got  somebody
on the bridge cooperating.'

'What's this about no resistance?' Jaansma said. 'Pirates?'

'Shee-yit,' Petr said. 'There ain't no such thing as pirates.'

'Then why'd they tell us not to resist? We... the Confederation isn't at
war with anybody, is it?'

'Not as far as I know.'

'Then what-'

'Shut up. If I knew something, I'd tell you.' Kipchak snapped.

They waited for almost an hour.  Normal lighting came on, and the  ready
lights dimmed.

'All military  trainees, '  the speaker  said. 'Stand  by for  assembly.
Secure all possessions  and obey the  orders of the  men who will  enter
your compartments. You have nothing to fear if you obey absolutely.

'Any resistance will be met with the most extreme measures.'

The troop bay was loud with questions and no answers.

Sudden silence, as the hatches at  the far end of the bay  slammed open.
Two  men  entered  the  compartment.  They  wore  spacesuits  with  open
faceplates and held  heavy blasters at  port arms. They  moved to either
side of the door, froze.

A third man entered. He was tall, clean-shaven and white-blond. Like the
others, he wore a  dark spacesuit with no  emblems, and had removed  his
helmet. There was a blaster bolstered at his side.

'All right.' The voice boomed,  and Garvin jumped until he  realized the
man had a portable loudspeaker mounted on his suit. 'This ship has  been
seized by lawful  authority. All of  you men and  women are to  consider
yourselves  prisoners.  At  the  proper  time  you  will  be  given   an
opportunity to redeem yourselves.

'Do not make any  attempt at resistance, or  you will be shot.  You will
not be harmed if you cooperate, and in fact could be richly rewarded  in
the future.

'Just  remember-do what  you're told,  when you're  told to  do it,  and
you'll be all right.

'Disobey and die. Now, stand by for further instructions.'

The blond disappeared.

'Oh shit-oh-reilly,' Kipchak murmured. 'We're in for it.'

'Why?' Yoshitaro asked. 'What in the hell's happening?'

'You remember how I said I&R's a real small world? I know that  bastard.
Name's Celidon, and he's a proper  shit. Kill you in a Vegan  instant if
you screw up.'

'I don't get  it,' Garvin said.  'Why the hell  should the Confederation
highjack one of its own ships?'

'He isn't Confederation,' Petr  said. 'Not anymore. He's  freelance. Has
been  since  they  booted him  out.  I  heard he  was  working  for some
Protector on... Lamyx...  no. Larix. Double  name. Larix and  Kura, that
was it.'

'What's going to happen next?'

'I  think.' Kipchak  said, his  voice gaining  confidence, 'we  did  get
pirated. Odds are this Protector's after the ship and whatever's in  it.
Although  how  the  hell  he'd  find  out  about  a  Confederation troop
movement... beyond me. Way beyond me.

'Fair cagey, though. Unmarked  suits, nobody in uniform,  probably their
ship's sterile, not a bad chance of getting away with it.'

'So what happens to us?' Garvin asked.

'We're still gonna be in the  army,' Kipchak said. 'But it won't  be the
Confederation's. And it might be a real long time before we get back  to
anything resembling home, if it matters to you.'

'Wonderful,' Njangu said. 'Just goddamned wonderful.'

Petr wasn't listening, but making  fast clicking noises with his  tongue
as he thought. 'Nope,' he said. 'Not for me, brother.'

'What's not for me?' Garvin asked.

'I'm  not  serving any  Protector,'  he said  firmly.  'Specially not  a
renegade. When the  Confederation comes down  on this bastard,  it'll be
the high jump for anybody and everybody wearing his colors.

'Nope, not for me,' he said once more.

'What can you do?' Njangu asked.

'Don't worry about me.  You fellows just keep  your heads low and  don't
take any promotions. They mostly  don't hang strikers in the  rear rank.
Sooner or later things'll shake out, or you'll get a chance to slide out
from under. You'll be  all right.' Petr's eyes  weren't on them, but  on
the two guards at the hatch.

'You're taking off.'

'Better honk.'

'Can we come?'  Garvin asked. 'Damned  if I want  to become any  sort of
pirate.'

'Don't be a prime idjiit,' Kipchak snapped. 'You'd just...' He  stopped,
looked at Garvin and Njangu critically.

'You serious?'

'Yeh.'

Njangu thought for a moment,  then nodded. 'I've already got  one strike
on me, don't need another. I'll go, if you'll have us.'

'Well... I owe you, like I said. And being solo on a lifeboat can create
problems, especially on a long jump, which I suspect we'll be making  if
we get that far.

''Kay. You can't take anything with you. We're gonna move backward, real
slow. When  the guards  look at  you, freeze.  Don't look  back. And for
gossakes don't smile. Pretty soon they'll come for the others, which  is
when we go down past the refresher in the confusion, undog the hatch  at
the far end of the bay, then follow me. Hopefully that passageway's  got
air in it. We're going for one of the E-craft-escape ships-which  should
be on the mid-deck. All these goddamned troopships are built pretty much
the same. If we're in  luck, it'll be supplied and  fueled. Otherwise...
so let's go.'

Step... step... statue, I'm a statue, one of those bastards with the gun
just glanced down the line, but not at me, not at me... step...

Half an eternity later, the blond officer, Celidon, came back.

'All right,' his amplified voice  cracked. 'Pick up your gear,  and come
toward me in single file. We're  going to search you, then move  you all
to  a smaller  compartment, to  keep you  from getting  yourselves  into
trouble. If  any of  you have  a weapon,  drop it  right now. Otherwise,
you'll be shot where you stand.

'First man!'

The recruits shuffled forward slowly.

Petr Kipchak slid down a side aisle. Behind him were Garvin and  Njangu.
Crablike, they scuttled away from the main bay entrance.

They passed  the rumpled  bunk Maev  had taken  Njangu to,  and he had a
moment of pain for what might've been but would never be.

Kipchak stopped at a small  hatch, double-dogged. He pulled on  one dog,
and paint cracked, fell away.

'Goddamned shipyard assholes. If it  don't move, paint over it.'  He put
his full weight on it, and the dog swung clear. He pulled the other  one
almost  free,  moved  the  dog  back  and  forth  experimentally, nodded
satisfaction. There was atmosphere on the other side.

He  opened  the  hatch,  and  the  three  crept  out,  into  the  bowels
ofthestarship.



CHAPTER 5

N-Space

Garvin heard their silent footsteps as smashing echoes through the empty
passages. Kipchak took the lead,  Njangu behind him. Both moved  easily,
Jaansma  noted,  used  to  stealth,  while  he  sounded  like  a drunken
mastodon.

Petr gestured... down this passage... through this hatch... and the  two
followed.  Twice  he waved  them  back, and  they  ducked into  an  open
compartment and space-booted heels clashed past.

There was  noise ahead,  and Kipchak  chanced creeping  to the passage's
turning.

Voices came:

'Awright... stay in line, goddammit...  look, I don't have the  friggin'
registry... I said keep it quiet!'

The sound of a blow, and a shout of pain.

Then Celidon's voice:

'Silence! I'll say this once only,' his voice boomed. 'Stay in the lines
we've put you in. When you come  to the noncom at the head of  the line,
give him your name, last first, and wait for him to check you off.

'You're now members of the armed forces of Larix and Kura, and you  will
learn we mollycoddle no one, and require utter obedience.

'Now, follow my orders!'

Petr nodded  wisely, as  if he  could've given  the speech  himself, and
waved them toward a red-lettered hatch.

EMERGENCY ACCESS TO LIFECRAFT.

WARNING: OPENING THIS HATCH WILL SET OFF AN ALARM.

DO NOT OPEN EXCEPT IN EXTREME EMERGENCY AND UNDER

THE DIRECTION OF A SHIP'S OFFICER OR A SENIOR OFFICER

OF YOUR OWN SERVICE

Petr examined the  hatch. Njangu was  already looking at  the dogs, then
the  hinges. He  pointed to  something Garvin  couldn't make  out,  then
opened and closed his fingers like  a mouth... or an alarm going  on and
off. He pulled the warning sign a  bit away from the hatch, then bent  a
corner of the plas back and forth until it broke free

Yoshitaro forced the  plas into the  back of one  hinge, holding a  tiny
spring-loaded  switch in  place, held  up his  thumb with  a grin,  then
crossed his  fingers. Petr  undogged the  hatch. No  alarm sounded. They
went into a curving passage  with smaller hatches at regular  intervals,
next to the  outer skin of  the ship. Garvin  fancied he could  feel the
cold of space when he touched the bulkhead.

Petr pointed to one hatch. They  opened it without setting off an  alarm
and entered  a small  airlock. Kipchak  opened the  inner hatch, and the
three went  'down' into  a single  large teardrop-shaped  room, with two
hatches to either side labeled REFRESHER. The room was padded from floor
to ceiling, and bunks were strapped to the walls. At the 'bottom' was  a
short ladder leading to a command station with three screens, a  handful
of sensors, a  single strapped chair,  and-in the center  of the panel-a
square button with a cover.

'Close the lock,' Kipchak ordered, and Jaansma obeyed. After he'd dogged
the hatch, Petr checked the dogs, then secured the inner hatch.

'We're  not in  the clear  yet,' he  said in  a pointlessly  low  voice.
'Sometimes these little  bastards have a  second alarm when  the power's
activated or when you boot out into space.

'You two pull  down a bunk  apiece. I don't  know if we'll  be doing any
grav-maneuvers, but  there's no  point in  getting bruised  up unless we
have to.'

Njangu  and  Garvin obeyed.  Petr  went to  the  command deck,  strapped
himself in.

'This boat is shit-simple,' he said. 'See this big mother button? That's
power. When it goes on we'll have our own grav, and the Screens'll  give
us real-time projections forward and aft, plus radar in the middle  one.
In N-space, all three'll be standard nav-screens. I hope.

'I'm talking  because I'm  scared I'm  going to  set something  off.' He
clenched his teeth,  lifted the cover  off the large  red switch, pushed
it.

Gravity swung 'down' from  the nose of the  teardrop to the deck  of the
boat, and the screens lit. Njangu felt a slight hum through the padding.

'We're live,' Petr  said. 'Let's see  if we can  just hit this  thing...
here... and... here we go.'

Garvin felt  movement as  a hatch  slid open  in the  outer skin and the
lifecraft's davits moved it into space,  let it float. He stared at  the
com deck's screens, couldn't make sense of the center one, but the other
two showed the  bulk of the  Malvern. Hanging next  to it was  the sleek
needle of a warship.

'Now  the alarms  go off,'  Petr said,  his fingers  tapping keys.   But
nothing happened. 'I don't believe this,' he said. 'I've not lived  that
clean a life... but here we go.'

He touched  a button,  then the  main button,  and the  world jittered a
little, and the screens showed the blur of N-space.

'One... two...  three... four...'  and Kipchak  touched another  sensor.
This time the screens showed normal  space, and again Petr hit the  main
button, and they jumped again.

'Two blind  jumps,' he  explained, 'just  to make  sure they didn't have
sensors out. They ought to have a button here labeled PANICKED FLIGHT.'

They came back to real space.  There was nothing around them, no  stars,
no worlds, no Malvern, no raiders.

'With  luck,'  he said,  'which  we're having  a  plethora of...  that's
shitpot-full for anyone without my advanced training... we jumped  maybe
half a light-minute each time. That'll be far enough to keep the goblins
from  finding  us,  but  not   so  far  we  lose  the   computer's  base
coordinates.'

'What happens if we do?' Garvin asked.

'We're screwed, blued, and probably not tattooed,' Petr said. 'This boat
should... emphasis should... have our final destination as one option, a
return  course  to  Centrum as  a  second,  and a  jump  to  the nearest
inhabited worlds the program's got in it for a third.'

Again, his  fingers ran  across sensors.  Njangu was  watching intently.
Petr looked up, grinned.

'Didn't think a crunchie'd know this stuff, eh? Gonna have to learn, the
more you know, the longer you live. There's no such thing any longer  as
an infantryman who  can't run at  least basic exterior  ballistics while
he's zigging like hell and hollering for his momma.

'Plus learning how to operate anything and everything, from whatever the
goblins're armed with to... to the Malvern.'

'You could've piloted that?'

'Could've gotten it off the ground and into space,' Kipchak said,  'with
a couple dot-and-carry types to  punch the buttons I couldn't  reach. As
for  setting  up for  a  jump... that's  what  computers are  for.  Now,
shuddup.

'We're getting our options.' He scanned the screens.

'Mmmmh,'  he  said  after  a time.  'First  possibility,  going  back to
Centrum, is a little chancy.  Seven, maybe eight jumps, since  this turd
doesn't have near the range of a real ship, and the life Support'll be a
little iffy by then.

'Next  possibility  is  the closest  human-occupied  system.  Which just
happens to be  Larix. What a  coincidence. I don't  think we want  to go
there, do we?'

The other two shook their heads.

'So it's  on to  the original  destination, D-Cumbre.  Two, more  likely
three jumps. Say a ship-week.  Gad, but we're dedicated Servants  of the
Confederation.

'I'll bet  there'll be  a real  shitstorm when  the three  of us show up
instead of that hogwallower Malvern.'

Jaansma and Yoshitaro looked at each other, didn't mention the  obvious.
When... or if.

'So  lemme  set things  up  for the  jump,  and we're  off,'  Petr said,
sounding impossibly cheerful.


Again, N-space swirled. Garvin's and Njangu's eyes kept being trapped by
the kaleidoscope patterns, but Kipchak was oblivious.

'Pay attention here,' he  said. 'This is why  I wasn't blowin' smoke  up
your butts when I said this'd be better with more'n one.

'Whoever designed these boats figured he'd have shocky people who didn't
know which end of a starship goes  squirt trying to run it. So they  set
things up to be  real simple. Find your  program, hit the start  button,
then just sit there eating your fingernails.

'The only instruments you've got  to watch in hyperspace is  this needle
here... which  you keep  between these  two black  bars with this little
slider, and this timer. Every two ship-hours you reset it. If you don't,
it'll kick the ship back out into real space.

'That's to  keep survivors  from getting  too damned  lost, I guess. And
nobody I know's ever found a way to short around that fail-safe.

'So we stand watches.'

'Nice to know we're needed,' Garvin said.

'You are, boy. You truly are.  Not just here, but in the  most important
way. Anything you consume gets  processed, and you'll breathe it,  drink
it, or get it for breakfast all over again.' Petr grinned evilly, waited
for nausea on the other two's faces, was disappointed.

'The recycler doesn't run at  anything near a hundred percent.  When the
cycler's  only  got  a single-source  feeder,  one  survivor, it  starts
getting... sloppy is maybe the most polite way to put it, pretty  quick.
The more it's got to play with, within reason of course, the better  off
we all are.'

'There's got to be other  supplies,' Garvin said. 'Otherwise, if  we eat
no more than we crap, we'll be thinking about Yoshi-taro over easy in  a
couple of days. Diminishing returns and things like that.'

'Right,' Petr said. 'Supplies should be over there. Basics, plus quite a
few luxuries. They realized anybody using these piddlers'd appreciate  a
little spoiling while they're waiting to be rescued.'

Njangu went to the indicated cabinet, undipped the fasteners, and opened
it.

'H'rang-dao!'  he muttered.  'Guess what,  guys? Somebody  did a  little
self-enrichment at our expense.'

Kipchak was across the compartment.

'Fine,' he said, voice hard. 'Real fine. Somebody, maybe in the shipyard
when the Malvern got refitted, maybe even somebody in the crew,  decided
to sort through the goodies. For off-watch snacktime or to sell.'

'What do we have left?' Garvin asked.

'We won't  starve,' Petr  said. 'But  we're going  to get  very tired of
soyaglop before we make it to Cumbre.'


Other  cabinets  had been  looted  as well,  including  the one  labeled
ENTERTAINMENT. Petr wasn't upset by this.

'Gives you a chance to learn something else,' he said. 'There's two ways
to pass the time  when you're off duty  and trapped somewhere you  can't
get  a load  on and  get your  ashes hauled,  which'll be  most of  your
military career. Believe it or not, you can get too much sleep.

'One is lying, the other's learning. Lying is the most  common-everybody
sits around and tells his or her life story, the most interesting  thing
that ever happened, the least interesting thing, and so forth.'

'Like everybody was doing on the Malvern,' Garvin said.

'Not everybody,' Petr said. 'Mostly those were the newbies. They weren't
thinking about what happens when the lies run out. What happens when you
know everything  there is  about somebody  else? Real  quick, you  start
hating their guts.

'It's always better to go first  to your own resources. Read a  disk, if
you've got one.  Or, if you  don't, find somebody  that knows something,
and make them teach it to you.

'It'll give you something to think about, plus you can get pissed off at
them  and  they at  you  for something  that's  got nothing  to  do with
anything important.'

'So what do we  do now?' Garvin  asked. 'Njangu's got  another two  ship
hours before I relieve him.'

'I noticed, back when  you were dealing with  that gambler, you seem  to
like words,' Kipchak said.

'I do.'

'That's a good liking to have. So sit down over there. And listen.'

Garvin obeyed.

'Enter CHORUS as Prologue,' Petr began.

'CHORUS: 'O for a muse of fire, that would ascend

          The brightest heaven of invention:

          A kingdom for a stage, princes to act,

          And monarchs to behold the swelling scene...'

Garvin and Njangu exchanged utterly bewildered looks.

*   *   *

Ship-hours and shifts later, a slightly hoarse Petr finished, 'Which off
our stage hath shown;  and for their sake.  In your fair minds  let this
acceptance take.'

He stood, bowed.

'And that,' he said, 'I'm damned proud of.'

'I guess,'  Garvin said  haltingly, 'you  ought to  be. That's  called a
play?'

'Yep.'

'How many more of them do you know?'

'Oh twelve, maybe thirteen.'

'All by this same guy?'

'Mostly. And some others. Moliere. Robicheux. Van Maxdem. Anouilh.'

'You memorized all of them?'

'Keeps you busy in the dogwatches.'

'Everybody in the army does shit like that?' Yoshitaro wanted to know.

'Nope. Just some.' Petr went to the fresher, drank water.

'Now it's your turn to entertain me.'


Half a lifetime later, they came out into real space, in the midst of  a
planetary system.

Petr lifted  the com  mike from  its slot  and touched  a sensor.  Panel
lights glowed. 'We're broadcasting on standard distress freqs,' he said,
and keyed another sensor. 'D-Cumbre, D-Cumbre, this is a lifecraft  from
the Confederation Transport Malvern.  Please respond to this  frequency.
D-Cumbre, this is a lifecraft from the Malvern...'



CHAPTER 6

D-Cumbre

The tall, silver-haired man  opened the door. He  wore the emblems of  a
caud, and was the commander of Strike Force Swift Lance.

Petr came to  his feet at  rigid attention. Njangu  and Garvin awkwardly
followed suit. All three wore brand-new uniforms, Njangu and Kipchak the
mottled green of the infantry, Garvin the black coveralls of Armor.

'Come inside,' Caud  Williams said, voice  cold. The three  followed him
into the office of Governor General Wilth Haemer. The head of the Cumbre
system's   Planetary   Government,   direct   representative   of    the
Confederation,  looked  like  anyone's grandfather.  But  now  he wasn't
offering sweets but scowling in righteous anger. The door closed with  a
loud click.

'These are the three men.  Governor,' Caud Williams said. Haemer  walked
behind  his  huge,  highly  polished  wood  desk,  bare  except  for  an
expensive-looking  old-fashioned  writing  pen  and  single  com button,
stared as if they were diseased cells..

'I see,' he said. 'All three rank recruits.'

'Two, sir,' Williams said. 'The man to the left is a reenlistee.'

'Hmph,' Haemer said. 'Couldn't make it on the outside, eh?'

The back of Kipchak's neck reddened, but he said nothing.

'I should congratulate  the three of  you,' Haemer said,  'for surviving
an... extraordinary experience. But I'm  unable to, since one or  all of
you fools had to blab your fantasy to the joumohs the minute you got out
of the rescue ship.'

'Wasn't-' Garvin started.

'Silence!' Caud Williams snapped.

'Go ahead,' Haemer said.

'It wasn't us, sir,' Jaansma said.

'Then who?'

'I don't know, sir.'

'Certainly no one  in the team  I dispatched to  pick up your  lifecraft
would've leaked to the holos without permission,' Haemer said. 'That  is
an absolute fact.'

Garvin finally had sense enough to clamp his lips together.

'Your hasty  story... I  won't call  it a  lie, for  I assume  you three
believe this nonsense... might well have sparked problems with Larix and
Kura, and especially with their protector, Alena Redruth,' Haemer  said.
'It's lucky I was able to release a clarification immediately.

'There's no  particular reason  I should  clarify matters  for anyone in
your position, but I shall, for I believe all my personnel should be  of
a common mind.

'We are on the uttermost fringes  of the Confederation. Our link to  the
Confederation lies through  Larix and is  not far distant  from the Kura
system, for your information.

'The goodwill of its people,  and their protector, is very  important to
the stability of Cumbre. Your  wicked tale might destabilize what  is an
extraordinarily close relationship.

'I realize you can't know it, but Protector Redruth himself was gracious
enough to visit Cumbre  a short time ago.  Isn't that about right,  Caud
Williams?'

'Yes, sir. Actually twenty-three E-months ago,' Williams said.

'It was quite  a satisfactory tour,'  Haemer continued. 'He  visited our
mines,  our  cities,  even  took  time  to  inspect  your  Strike Force,
correct?'

'Yes, sir,' Williams said.

'And now  our friendship,  a friendship  of three  great systems of Man,
here on the frontiers, is threatened by three fast-mouths,' Haemer said.
'This situation shall not be permitted  to worsen,' he went on. 'Let  me
tell  you  what actually  happened.  Some renegades  seized  two of  the
Protector's ships. Possibly these criminals were even deserters from his
own forces and wore the Protector's  uniforms as a cover for their  vile
crime, which is why you became confused.

'There  was an  error made,  but I  have corrected  it. You  three  have
already released corrective statements  to the holos after  I personally
allowed you access to our intelligence files, and wish to apologize. You
wish to say something, young man?'

Yoshitaro's eyes were wide. 'Nossir,' he said. 'Nothing, sir.'

'I didn't think so.

'Caud Williams,' Haemer went  on, 'I do not  know what to do  with these
three.  If we  were anywhere  close to  civilization, I'd  order you  to
discharge them from the service at once. But I doubt if any of them have
employable talents  on D-Cumbre,  and we  hardly want  them to  become a
drain on the civilian economy.

'However, I want  them to be  fully aware of  my displeasure, and  while
they will be permitted to serve  out their term of enlistment, I  do not
wish to hear  of them or  see their faces  again. Needless to  say, this
means I do not wish them to be promoted or achieve any recognition until
I decide otherwise. Is that clear?'

'Sir, I cannot permit-'

'Caud, that is an order!'

'Yes, sir.'


Njangu and Garvin  followed Petr quite  numbly, about two  meters behind
the caud as he  strode down the marble  steps of the governor  general's
headquarters. Williams' Cooke-an open gravsled used for everything  from
ambulances to Command & Control-had its drive compartment open, and  the
pilot was muttering in a low tone and pawing in his tool kit.

'What's the problem this time. Running Bear?'

'Just won't start, sir. But I think I can get it going.'

'Very well,' the caud said. 'You three, across the street and into  that
park.'

The recruits obeyed.

'On line, and  at attention,' he  ordered. 'You heard  what the governor
general would like to do to you. That won't happen... unless you  happen
to get in his line of fire before he forgets your name.

'As far as being on any blacklist of mine... no. I'll never discipline a
soldier  for making  an honest  mistake. Nor  are you  disqualified  for
future promotion or awards, if  you deserve them. You reported  what you
saw or thought you saw, and refused to back off.

'I admire soldiers with sticktoitiveness. But don't take things too far.
Learn to think about what you thought you saw, and maybe reevaluate it.

'Remember  one  thing. Strike  Force  Swift Lance  is,  as the  governor
general said, far  from the heart  of the Confederation.  We desperately
needed the equipment  and men on  that ship, because  it's been far  too
long since we've been resupplied,  and the unit is badly  understrength.
Some people we must respect might have overreacted to the bad news about
the highjacking.

'Is what I'm saying making sense?'

'Yessir,' Petr growled, and the other two bobbed their heads.

'Very  well,' Williams  said. 'We'll  forget about  the whole  incident.
Welcome to Strike Force Swift Lance. You two new recruits'll begin  your
basic instruction immediately, which unfortunately won't be as formal as
it should've been.

'We'll have to put you, Jaansma,  directly into a unit to be  trained on
the job. As for  you, Yoshitaro, you'll do  the same with whatever  unit
personnel assigns you to. You, Kipchak, you've already been requested by
Senior Tweg Reb Gonzales of the Intelligence and Reconnaissance Company.
He says he knows you from another post.'

'Yessir. Tweg Gonzales and I were on Deneb-Nekkar together. A good  man,
sir.'

'You'll report to him when we return to post.

'That's all, gentlemen,  except let me  reiterate my advice-keep  a very
low profile and don't make anyone, not your non-coms, not your officers,
and certainly not me, have to consider your sins for a very long time.

'Finf Running Bear seems to have gotten the Cooke started, so let's load
up and get back to camp.'

He marched away, toward the gravsled.

Garvin and Njangu looked at each other.

'He seems decent,' Jaansma said in a low voice.

'Yeah? He  doesn't believe  us any  more than  that other  asshole did,'
Yoshitaro said. 'He's just more polite about it.'

Kipchak nodded.  'You're learning,  boy. But  give him...  maybe both of
them... some  grace. How'd  you confront  the small  problem that  there
seems to be a shark between you and the surface and cruising around your
lifeline?'

'Strong point,' Garvin said. 'You can never convince a mark the  wheel's
rigged even after you show him the weights.'


The Cooke slid quickly away  from the PlanGov fortress, down  a sweeping
avenue through the city of Leggett toward the gulf Dharma Island  curled
around. In  the middle  of the  huge bay,  twenty kilometers distant and
barely visible through  the heat haze,  was Chance Island,  Strike Force
Swift Lance's base.

Running  Bear  accelerated,  lifting the  Cooke  to  a thousand  meters.
Williams turned  in his  seat and  raised his  voice above the windrush,
trying to make conversation.

'Did all three of you take your oathing on Centrum?'

The recruits exchanged glances.

'Nossir,' Kipchak said. 'I've never been sworn in this time. Guess  they
never got around to it.'

Njangu and Garvin also shook their heads.

Williams reacted in horror. 'You mean... you've served for how long...'

'Two and a half E-months for  me,' Petr said. 'Six months for  Yoshitaro
and  Jaansma,  since  they  had  to  transit  from  their  homeworlds to
Centrum.'

'Six months, and you're not  even... great gods, what's passing  through
the minds of men these  days? Oathing... that's the most  important part
of... I cannot believe no one, absolutely no one...' Williams sputtered.
His lips firmed into thin lines. 'My apologies to you gentlemen, in  the
name of the Confederation. This is intolerable. Utterly intolerable!'

'Uh-oh,' Njangu muttered.


'Never  seen so  many goddamned  soldiers in  my whole  friggin'  life,'
Yoshitaro muttered. 'Wonder what they're all here for?'

'Zip the lip,' Petr said. 'This is a solemn occasion.'

The three wore dress uniform-dark, almost midnight blue trousers,  waist
length belted tunic, service cap with yellow piping on the trouser legs,
cap,  and epaulettes.  The trousers  were bloused  into black  mid-thigh
boots. Petr had three rows of decorations above his left breast, and two
winged emblems on his right; the other two nothing. All wore wide  black
leather belts, with an empty knife sheath on it.

They were  in the  center of  Camp Mahan's  enormous drill-field, almost
three kilometers to a side. The field was packed with soldiers in  dress
uniform-almost eight thousand men and women of Strike Force Swift Lance.

From the farside of  the field marched Caud  Williams. Behind him was  a
color guard-three  flagbearers with  the banners  of the  Confederation,
Cumbre, and the Force; then  Williams' command staff and the  Force band
at the rear, blasting for all its might. Williams' bootheels smashed  to
a halt about  fifteen meters distant.  The band played  for another four
measures, then silence swept the square.

Garvin smelled the flower-scented air in the soft wind from the sea, the
newness of his uniform, and his own sweat.

'Men of Swift Lance,' Williams'  voice boomed from his throat  and eight
thousand belt speakers.  'We have come  to honor three  who've chosen to
join us.

'Garvin Jaansma,  Petr Kipchak,  Njangu Yoshitaro,  five paces  forward!
Colors!'

Two  flagbearers marched  out, one  with the  Confederation's flag,  the
second with  the Force's.  Without a  command, the  Force guidon-carrier
lowered his banner until it was level with the ground.

'You men, put your hands on the flag!'

They obeyed.

'Repeat after me. I, Caud Jochim  Williams, do swear by all that  I hold
sacred, whether  God or  gods or  my own  honor, I  will obey the lawful
commands given me by my superiors and swear to defend the Confederation,
its life-forms and its way until death, or until I am released from this
vow.'

As they  finished the  oath, the  band crashed  into the Confederation's
'Galactic Anthem.'

'I wonder if there's any pickpockets working the crowd and if we can get
a cut on the action?' Njangu whispered.

'Shut up,'  Garvin whispered  fiercely. Yoshilaro  glanced sideways  and
noted his friend's Adam's apple working convulsively and what he thought
to be a tear running down one cheek.

Garvin noted  Yoshitaro's surprise.  'It reminds  me of  the circus, and
he's a great ringmaster,' he managed, sheepishly.

'Quiet!' Petr snarled.

The band  finished, and  minor cheers  rolled across  the parade ground.
'Flags... return!' someone shouted, and the two bearers about-faced  and
returned to the guard.

'Mil Rao!' Williams shouted. 'Arm these soldiers!'

Prakash Rao, the Force executive officer, came out of formation carrying
three leather  cases. He  gave one  case to  each man,  returned to  his
position.

'Be worthy of this honor,' Williams said. 'Train hard, serve well, be  a
credit to the  Force,' He stepped  back, saluted. The  recruits returned
the salute.

'Unit commanders... take charge of your men and dismiss the Force!'

Yoshitaro  opened  his case.  There  was a  cap  emblem and  two  collar
insignia, each a lance  with a shock wave  spraying from the tip,  and a
knife. Surprisingly, instead of  being a stylized parade-ground  device,
it was a lethal  fighting blade about 18cm  long, single edged with  its
curving top edge sharpened about 7cm back from the point. The handle was
leather, and the butt cap and  hilts were silver. It fit his  empty belt
sheath perfectly.

'Strange,' he said.

'What?' Petr asked, an edge in his voice.

'I'm not slanging  anybody,' Yoshitaro said  hastily. 'But we  get these
emblems, which are all flash and filigree, and then this knife, which is
damned practical.'

'So?'

'Which is the real Force?'

Kipchak looked uncomprehending.

'Never mind,' Njangu said. 'Let's go learn how to sojer.'



CHAPTER 7

C-Cumbre

Jord'n Brooks let the drill yammer against the rock, blinking sweat back
from his eyes. Grit swirled in the dusty air, caked on his face,  dusted
his hair gray. The  stope he lay in  was barely a meter  high, half that
wide, room enough for himself, the endless-belt carrier for the ore, and
his drill. The rock under him, wet, hot, shuddered as someone in another
drift set off a charge.

Brooks was very much at home in the mine, had been for twenty years.

He pawed rock back onto  the belt, pulled back  the sleeve of his  insul
suit, checked the time. He shut  off and slung his drill, wriggled  back
from the slope  until the tunnel  widened enough for  him to get  to his
feet, his back just brushing the rock above him.

He  went  down the  rise  to the  substation,  the overhead  taller  and
reinforced  with steel  beams. The  air was  a little  fresher there,  a
conditioner chugging away beside the bank of controls.

His shift boss stood beside the vertical shaft, and a lift was waiting.

'You're covered,' she  said, and Brooks  took off his  breather, set the
airpak and drill down,  got in the lift,  and it shot upward.  The shaft
ended half a mile above, and he went through an air-lock and transferred
to a slidecar that took him to the mine's main shaft. He crowded into  a
cargo lift with twenty other men and women, boisterous and dirty, coming
off shift, and it took him to the surface.

Harsh floodlights  made him  blink as  he came  out of  the top airlock.
Somehow Brooks  always expected  day when  he came  out of  the mine, in
spite of what the clocks might say. He inhaled air that was only  dusty,
dry, and cold instead of hard, oily, compressed, shivered a little until
the insul-suit adjusted.

The other miners started for the gate and security. Brooks ducked around
an orecar and slipped through shadows  past the half dome of the  mine's
entrance, then high piles of spoil. He used an automated oretrain for  a
ride once, then  continued walking. Twice  he stopped, waited  until the
predicted security patrols passed, then went on. The night was lit  with
flaring burnoffs from other shafts not many kilometers away.

Beyond a  second mine  entrance he  followed lift  rails past more spoil
until he came to a half-underground semicircular concrete bunker.  Signs
were posted:

EXTREME DANGER! EXPLOSIVES!

DO NOT APPROACH WITHOUT PROPER AUTHORIZATION

FROM MELLUSIN MINING!

NO INCENDIARY APPARATUS PERMITTED!

UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL WILL HAVE THEIR CONTRACT

TERMINATED AND WILL BE PROSECUTED

TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW!

Brooks went to one of the bunker's entrances. He took a strangely shaped
key with four differently shaped and fingered arms from a hidden  pocket
in the leg of his insul-suit, fit it carefully into a slot in the  door.
He didn't notice a small crescent  mounted above the door, just in  line
with the lock, didn't hear it click.

Brooks turned the  lock once right,  halfback to the  left, then to  the
right once more. The door clicked open.

Brooks heard  the whine  of a  lifter, slid  into darkness,  watched the
unlit vehicle ground five meters away. Two figures got out, came  toward
him. Both had guns ready.

'The Task,' a woman's voice came.

'The Duty,' Brooks answered.

The woman put her pistol away, came closer. She was Jo Poynton, and  had
once been  part of  his Fold,  the 'Raum  congregation. She was slender,
medium height,  in her  mid-twenties, small-breasted,  with surprisingly
full lips that  looked like they  wanted to smile  if their owner  would
ever let them.

'Were there any problems getting onworld?'

'None,' Poynton said. 'How long before you're missed?'

'I'm covered through the end of the shift,' Brooks said.

'We aren't that clean,' the other man said. 'The security tech we bought
can only keep his radar down for another hour.'

Brooks  recognized him  by the  livid scar  down his  cheek as  Comstock
Brien, who'd left the 'Raum almost  five years ago, one of the  first of
The Movement to go into the hills, now regarded as its most dynamic  war
leader. He was not tall, above average  for a 'Raum, once stocky,  heavy
bodied, but the time in the jungle, the time running, had worn him  down
to gauntness.

'Is it open?'

Brooks slid the door open. Brien took a lantern from his belt, turned it
on, and they entered.

'A candy store,' Poynton said.

Brooks made a noise like laughter.

'Telex there, Blok over there, and the primary igniters are in this room
here.'

'Get the detonators first,' Brien said. 'With those we can make anything
go up.'

Brooks and the woman carefully took padded boxes of various  detonators,
carried them to the gravlighter, came back for another load.

Poynton had just stepped  out of the bunker  when a light blazed,  and a
voice said:

'Move and die.'

Both stopped.

'Mellusin Security,' the voice said. 'Put the boxes down. Slow.  There's
two guns on you.'

They obeyed.

'Five steps  forward,' the  security woman  said. 'Prone  on the ground,
arms and legs extended.'

Brooks knelt, went on his face.  A second lightbeam came on, pinned  the
two against the muddy ground.

'You,' the woman  said. 'You in  the bunker. Come  out. Slow. Guess  you
three didn't  think we've  got our  own snitches  out listening for when
somebody asks about  explosives. Or that  we'd set some  extra alarms on
the demo supplies just to make sure.'

Brien came out, hands half-raised.

'All the way up.'

His hands moved... and he dived forward in a shoulder roll. The  guard's
blaster  went off  and the  bolt crashed  above Brien's  head into   the
bunker. Flame flashed, and smoke boiled as an alarm seared the night.

The guard spun, aiming again at Brien as he came to his feet, and Brooks
was on his hands and knees, bear-walking forward into the woman's  legs,
sending her sprawling. The other guard's light flickered toward  Brooks,
just as Poynton got her pistol out and shot him.

The woman was rolling onto her  back, both hands on her blaster,  trying
to aim, but Brooks was on her,  hands clawing at her face. The gun  spun
out of her hands, and he had her throat and squeezed, squeezed, and felt
bone crack, her heels drum against  the ground, and smelled shit as  she
died.

He was off  the corpse and  on his feet.  Another alarm screamed  from a
distance, matching the bunker's fire warning.

'Let's go,' Poynton said.

'No,' Brooks said firmly. 'We've time for one more load. And we'll  take
the guards' sled with us.'

His voice was calm, emotionless. The other two stared in surprise,  then
obeyed. Brooks trotted back into  the smoky bunker, ignored the  growing
flames, draped  slings of  explosive porta-paks  on his  arms, staggered
out, and dumped them into the back of the security lifter.

'Now let's go.'

'What about you?'  Brien said. 'I  can't see how  you'll be able  to get
back to your shift with the hue and cry out.'

Brooks got into the pilot's seat of the sled, examined the controls. 'It
seems the One  has decided I'm  now on the  run, like you.'  He shrugged
slightly. 'What happens, happens. Let's lift!'

He started the sled, brought it  clear of the ground. The others  jumped
into their lifter, started its engine.

The air shock-waved as something inside the bunker exploded.

The lifters came off the ground, swung, then went to full power,  banked
around a rusting conveyor way. Jord'n Brooks followed, and the two craft
fled into the night.

The only thought in Brooks' mind  was: Wish I'd had time to  say goodbye
to my children.

Three minutes later the  bunker exploded, destroying a  square kilometer
of the mine's  aboveground equipment  and buildings,  and killing  forty
five 'Raum miners, a dozen  supervisors, plus nearly fifty security  and
firemen just short of the bunker. It was a month before that division of
Mellusin Mining was able to resume operations.



CHAPTER 8

'Looking for a dec named Ben Dill?' Garvin inquired of the legs sticking
out of the Grierson's drive compartment.

'Inside the tin can,' the muffled  voice came. 'Tell him from me  he's a
dirty bastard.'

'Uhh,' Garvin responded, and went to the rear of the assault vehicle. As
he did, an antenna swiveled,  tracking him, then waggled back  and forth
like a hound who's just lost the scent.

The ramp  was down  into the  troop compartment,  and inside  was a  man
wielding a broom with great vigor. He was possibly the largest  humanoid
Garvin had ever seen outside the circus.

'Dec Dill?'

'That's me,' the man said. 'Armed, dangerous, and attitudinal with  your
basic Mark 1 Bristle Boomer.' He put the broom down and came out of  the
AV. Dill was  in his mid-twenties,  already balding, and  had an amiable
grin on his face. Garvin decided  he didn't want to be around  when Dill
lost the  smile. He  guessed he  wasn't supposed  to salute, but brought
himself to attention.

'Recruit Garvin Jaansma. Reporting.'

'Oh yeh,' Dill said. 'You're gonna  be my new gunner. Relax. I  ain't an
officer-I know  both my  parents. Welcome  to Third  Platoon. A Company,
Second Infantry, and may the  gods have mercy on whatever  pieces you've
promised  them.'  His  voice  easily  changed  to  a  bellow.  'Awright,
everybody! Unass the can!'

The legs  came out  of the  drive compartment,  became a  grease-covered
stocky man about Garvin's age.

'Stanislaus Gorecki,' Dill  introduced. 'He's the  driver/wrench, mostly
wrench.'

'So it's my fault this pig runs one time out of ten?'

'Got to be somebody's fault,' Dill said reasonably. 'Not mine, 'cause  I
outrank you,  and sure  can't be  the assholes  in the Confederation who
decided to issue us Mod.  2 Griersons instead of something  livable, now
could it?'

'Don't complain,'  Gorecki said.  'We all  could be  crunchies, couldn't
we?'

'Strong point,' Dill  said. Garvin was  lost, and the  vehicle commander
took pity.

'Here's the drill,'  he explained. 'Pigs  though they be,  there's eight
Griersons in each company.  Takes two assault teams-that's  twenty muddy
infantrymen-crunchies.  One Grierson  per platoon.  The other  four  are
Company headquarters,  heavy weapons,  maintenance/recovery, and  signal
vehicles.

'We're part of A Company, and this Grierson is Third Platoon's. But  you
don't see the rest of Third  Platoon hanging about here, do you?  And if
you look down  the hangar, you  see no more'n  five people, plus  idiots
like the maintenance  sergeant and his  pukes, lurkin' about,  trying to
appear busy. You know where the rest of the platoon is?

'Today they're out painting  rocks in front of  Regimental Headquarters.
Definitely part of learning to be a combat soldier.'

'I got you,' Garvin said.

'Study hard with us,' Gorecki  said, 'or you, too,  could carry the  mil
specialty of Shit Shoveler First Grade.'

Gorecki  eyed  Garvin.  'You're  the  guy  we  paraded  for  day  before
yesterday?'

'I am,' Garvin said hesitantly.

'I owe you one. I was supposed to orderly for Mil Fitzgerald's mess, but
she went and et with the caud at headquarters, all 'cause of you.'

'Glad I could be of service.'

Garvin heard a clang  from inside the Grierson,  and a small woman  with
archaic glasses and straight shoulder-length hair that looked like  it'd
been styled  with a  butcher knife  came out.  She wore  the three  rank
slashes of a finf.

'Uh... hi,' she managed, nodding rapidly.

'This  is  our  countermeasures yoodle,'  Dill  said.  'Ho Kang.  Garvin
Jaansma. She's a finf, so I'm the only one with rank enough to call  her
a yoodle.'

'Uh... hi,'  she said  again, promptly  dismissed Garvin,  and turned to
Dill.

'Ben,  I'm  still  getting  false echoes  on  the  close-scope.  I tried
tracking him around the ACV and got six people. Dancing.'

'Ho,'  Dill said  patiently, 'if  I put  that in  the logbook,   they'll
redline us, and  do you have  any idea how  long it'll be  before we get
parts?' He nodded at Garvin. 'Our  newbie here was on the ship  that got
'jacked, which probably had all the goodies we've been whining for.'

'Oh.' Kang readmitted Garvin's existence. 'They got everything?'

'Ship and all.'

'Who was they?' she wanted to know.

'Uh...I'm supposed to say it was pirates.'

'But who was it for real?'

'I'm in enough trouble,' Jaansma said. 'I'll stick with pirates.'

'I wish  pirates,' Ho  said wistfully.  'A lot  more colorful than those
stupid bandits who call themselves The Movement, or the Musth, who never
do anything except posture. Dammit, I want... I need... a fight!'

'We'll feed him a  couple of beers and  find out the real  story later,'
Gorecki said. 'Meantime, how do we fix that close-range pickup? I really
like knowing when somebody's creeping up on me with a grenade.'

Kang glanced around,  making sure she  wasn't overheard. 'I  could do it
myself,' she said, 'if it  weren't illegal, probably figure out  a patch
and pick up some stuff next time I get into Leggett. But who pays?'

Dill dug into  the pocket of  his coveralls, took  out bills. 'Here.  If
it's more, I'll come up with it.'

The money disappeared into Kang's pocket.

'See what some  people'll do to  make tweg?' Gorecki  asked. 'Even spend
their own coin to look good.'

'Look good hell,' Dill said. 'This rustbucket breaks one more time,  and
it'll be a hangar queen and we'll all be on permanent solvent-tub  duty.
I'm just looking out for your best interests.'

Garvin was lost yet again.

'See,' Dill explained, 'that's this strike force's problem. We look real
good on the surface... hell, you  could shave in the reflection on  this
piece of shit.' He slapped the  side of the Grierson. 'But ask  it... or
anything  else  to run  for  longer'n about  a  klick... that's  another
thing.'

'The motor pool's got shit in the way of supplies,' Gorecki added,  'but
gods help  anybody who  fixes something  with a  nonauthorized part.  So
around here if you break down, you stay broke down and the asshole first
tweg finds other duties for you. Shoveling shit.'

'Which brings up another problem,' Dill said. 'How much training do  you
have?'

'None,' Garvin said honestly. 'I was  told I'd be trained when I  got to
my unit.'

'Just swell,' Dill said. 'As long as we're on the list of what we  ain't
got, try a budget for training exercises, ammo for training, rockets for
training, try everything but fuel.'

'We've got simulators,' Kang said.

'Kang thinks sitting in a nice warm place shooting at things that  don't
really shoot  back is  the way  to learn  how to  be a hero,' Dill said.
'She's a few microns short of a circuit.'

'Better than nothing,' the woman said stubbornly.

'Not much,'  Dill said.  'You see,  Jaansma? It  ain't nothin'  like the
livies. Welcome to Strike Force Limp Dick.'


Alt Jon Hedley was less seated  than sprawled atop his desk. His  office
would've been quite large if it  weren't for the map racks, the  several
viewers, computers, and the map table that devoured space.

'Welcome to  Intelligence and  Reconnaissance,' he  said, holding  out a
hand. Njangu blinked at the informality, but tapped it.

'Since we have our own way of doing things, we figure we should have our
own flipping way of training people.  We just started a cycle with  four
eagerly baying locals two weeks gone. You'll be able to drop right in.'

He glanced at the  bulking, slightly going-to-seed senior  tweg standing
behind Njangu. 'Reb, would you mind buzzing Monique and ask her to  drop
in if she's in the company area?'

'Right, boss.'

Njangu's eyebrows lifted. Hedley caught it.

'This is a  good place for  instant flipping orientation,'  he said. 'We
have a few rules. First is that we're all flipping volunteers. Mess  up,
and you're devolunteered back into  one of the regiments to  become part
of the madding herd.

'Second is  not to  get a  big flipping  head. We're  nothing more  than
crunchies who happen to  work in small lots.  What we do, we  do faster,
better,  and dirtier'n  anybody else.  So don't  go bragging  about  how
billyjo-bad you are and pushing civilians or the herd around when you're
outside the  company area.  Starting a  fight is  another reason  to get
punted out. Especially if you don't win.

'I said we're dirty, but when  we're not, we're the cleanest. We  depil,
we bathe, we keep the boots shined and the uniforms as clean as we  can.
Any idiot can be a pig. We're not idiots.

'Three is that we've got  our own ways, which aren't  anybody's business
but ours.  I saw  you look  a bit  surprised when  I called  Senior Tweg
Gonzales by his first name, and  he called me boss. But if  there'd been
an outsider around, I would have  used his full rank and last  name, and
he would've called me sir.

'You  can call  people whatever  you want...  or, more  precisely,  what
they'll allow  you to.  Senior Tweg  Gonzales, for  instance, happens to
have about  seven campaigns  and two  major wars  behind him,  so if you
called him Reb when he comes back, he'd probably hammer you into a  thin
paste suitable for wallpaper. Save that for when you're trained and on a
team. Or better yet, after you've been shot at a time or two.

'As I said, our business is  our business. Keep it that way,  and you'll
be a credit to I&R.

'Petr Kipchak... who I just punted  up to finf, because nobody stays  in
the  flipping ranks  in I&R  if they're  good, unless  they want   to...
recommended you, and Reb  thinks he's a good  man, which is why  I asked
personnel if  you'd be  interested in  volunteering. Don't  screw up and
make Petr... and me... out to be a liar.'

'Nossir,' Yoshitaro said, relaxing in the warmth of Hedley's smile.

The door came open and Senior Tweg Gonzales came in, accompanied by  one
of the more beautiful women Njangu had ever seen. She had  close-cropped
blond hair and an athletic body. As for her face... Njangu remembered  a
song he'd always hated, with the stupid lyric of 'bee-kissed lips,'  and
wondered what the hell a bee  was. He still didn't know, but  thought it
looked pretty good.

'You wanted me, boss?'

'I did,' Hedley  said. 'This piece  of meat is  yours. Njangu Yoshitaro,
this is Dec  Monique Lir, our  training NCO and  First Troop Gamma  Team
Leader. You'll find out that most of us wear at least two hats.

'I'm unit CO, which  is a cent's slot,  and Second Troop Leader,  Reb is
Company First Sergeant,  which is a  first tweg position,  and so forth.
The  TO&E  says we  should  have four  officers,  we've got  myself  and
Aspirant Vauxhall, who's XO and  First Troop Leader. If you  qualify for
I&R, you'll find yourself doing a couple of jobs, too.

'That's about it. Monique,  take this disgustingly soft  former civilian
from my  sight and  transform him  into something  acceptable.' Hedley's
voice was just as friendly as it'd been a minute earlier.

''Kay. boss,' the woman said. 'You... out!'

Njangu saluted, Hedley unwound from  the desk, returned the salute,  and
smiled gently.

'Try to have some flipping fun.'


Garvin woke up with a headache.

'That's that,' Dill said.

'What's what?'

'You've seen the holos, where newbies spend all their time marching back
and forth, getting hollered at by drill twegs and such?'

'Sure,' Jaansma said. 'Can I get up?'

'Do it.'

Garvin slid out of  the contoured chair, rubbed  his arm where Dill  had
given him the injection three hours earlier.

'Now, about all that square-bashing,' Dill said. 'Group... ten-hup!'

Garvin, without willing it, slammed to rigid erectness, his hands at his
side, slightly  curled, his  feet together,  and his  head tucked firmly
into his chin.

''Bout...hace!'

Garvin lifted  his right  foot, put  his toe  behind his  left heel, and
pivoted through 180 degrees.

'I could march you back and forth and up and down,' the dec said.  'Make
you do squads right about, flanking movements, and all that swaddle.

'You'd do it like you'd spent ten years on a parade ground. No muss,  no
fuss, one hypno-conditioning  and three hours  in the chair,  and you've
got it, without even one lousy little bead of sweat or blister.'

Garvin felt his skin crawl. 'That conditioning could've trained me to do
anything?'

'Yep,' Dill  said. 'That's  why the  injection can  only be  given by an
officer,  and a  responsible medical  team must  be present  during  the
application.'  He  laughed. 'See  how  careful the  army  is about  your
rights?'

Dill's laugh cut off as he saw Garvin's expression.

'Sorry. Guess it isn't  funny the first time.  The real answer is  no...
this kind of  conditioning, a one-shot  program, only takes  because you
don't have  any objection  to it.  If I'd  wanted you  to go murder your
mother, say,  it would  take a  whole bunch  more time.  A year,  maybe.
That's why conditioning takes so long.'

'What's that?'

'You must've  come from  a pretty  decent world,'  Dill said.  'A lot of
Confederation planets use that as a last resort for crooks. Three times,
and they put a  little voice in your  head telling you what  you can and
can't do. Nasty shit.'

'Where I was,'  Garvin said, 'when  I enlisted, they  didn't do anything
like that. Just shot you for any serious offense.'

'Humanitarians, every one,' Dill agreed. 'Now quit lazin' about and  get
your ass out on detail. We're gonna do some real soldiering and give the
caud's lawn a haircut.'

*   *   *

'Recruit  Yoshitaro,' Monique  Lir shouted  an inch  from Njangu's  ear,
'that log isn't heavy, is it?'

'NO, DEC'

'It's your favorite toy, isn't it. Recruit Yoshitaro?'

'YES, DEC''

'Thought so. Squad...  on the count  of three, switch  shoulders... one,
two, THREE!'

In unison the  five trainees lifted  the eight foot  long chunk of  wood
from their left shoulder to the right.

'Sloppy, very sloppy,' Lir shouted. 'Prepare to ground log, on the count
of three... one, two, THREE.'

The chunk of wood thudded to the ground.

'Squad, ten-hut! Three deep breaths, in unison...'

Yoshitaro sucked  air, tried  to blink  sweat from  his eyes. He'd never
hurt so bad in his entire life, not from his father's beatings, not from
anything from the police. Why he didn't tell Lir to shove it and go find
a place in a rifle company was beyond him.

Possibly, he thought, pure terror  from what the drill instructor  would
do to me if I even thought of quitting.

He  might've considered  Lir beautiful  on meeting,  but now  she was  a
slavering demon  from the  worst pits  of a  hell he  hadn't believed in
until recently. As for bee-kissed,  he hoped the mythical bee  was about
the size of a Grierson, and would come back for a return bout soon.

'Are we happy, squad?' Lir bellowed.

'YES, DEC'

Njangu wondered how the  other four in the  team had managed to  survive
two  weeks of  torment before  he got  there. D-Cumbre  natives must  be
tougher than  they looked.  Three days  into this  degradation, he  knew
little more about them than their names and what they'd done before.  By
the time Lir allowed them to crawl into the tents they slept in,  across
the street from the barracks  Njangu now thought more palatial  than any
luxury hotel he'd ever burgled,  there wasn't much inclination for  idle
chitchat.

Hank Faull was a former 'Raum,  one of the miner/cultists Petr had  told
him about, seventeen, eighteen hundred years ago on the Malvern, when he
didn't  hurt  all  the  time   everywhere.  But  so  far  Faull   hadn't
proselytized, hadn't said much outside duty requirements other than when
he showed Yoshitaro how to pitch his shelter, and told him not to worry,
that Lir would  certainly kill them  all in the  next few days  and they
could relax while  the last  rites were  being read.  None of  the  body
wrenching workouts Lir  put them through,  from the calisthenics  before
the sun rose to the night cross-country runs seemed to bother him.

Erik Penwyth must've been heavy before Lir got her hands on him, for his
skin was a little loose around his gut. Now he was as skinny as everyone
else. He spoke in  an affected drawl, and  Njangu gathered he came  from
one of  D-Cumbre's rich  families. Njangu  thought Penwyth  must be  the
insane member of the family, for why else would he be eating mud here at
Camp Mahan instead of lolling about with whatever and whoever richies on
D-Cumbre lolled with.

Angie Rada was short, small-breasted, and instantly made Njangu think of
black silk restraints, scented candles, and sex wilder than anything  he
could dream of. He actually wondered what Lir would do if a little  tent
swapping happened, but  realized he was  being really foolish,  since he
was too tired to raise even a smile.

The last  was Ton  Milot. He  was also  small, but  very solidly  built,
always laughing. Like Faull, he never seemed tired or sore, and had told
Njangu that Lir was a foam-bubble. Nothing she could come up with was as
much an ass-buster as fishing.

'Plus,' he said, 'she hasn't figured out a way to drown us.'

'Yet,' Penwyth added.

The five stood  by their log  about fifty meters  from the company  mess
hall. The sun was straight  overhead, and soldiers were filing  into the
building.

'Is everybody hungry?'

'YES, DEC'

'No, you're not. Are you?'

'NO, DEC!'

'We don't want to eat, we want to run, don't we?'

'YES, DEC.' Njangu felt his stomach start gnawing on his lungs.

'That wasn't loud enough! Right... hace. Forward, harch!  Double-time...
HARCH! Straight down to the beach,  people. Let's see if we can  run all
the way to the swamp before  anybody falls out! Maybe then we'll  have a
nice, refreshing crawl for a few hundred meters.'


Garvin checked the torque setting  once more, put a little  extra muscle
on the wrench, and the nut snapped cleanly in half.

'Son of a bitch,' he muttered, remembering what Dill had said about  the
fate  of those  who were  redlined. Would  this take  the Aerial  Combat
Vehicle off READY  status? He pushed  gingerly on the  Grierson's intake
shield, and it  wiggled visibly. No  way around it...  somebody'd notice
the bare bolt sticking out of the Greierson's roof and they'd be for the
solvent tubs, great barrels cut in half, filled with corrosive muck used
to  clean weapons  and parts.  Jaansma climbed  off the  ACV's roof  and
started out of the hangar toward the far-distant Supply.

Half an hour later, he trailed disconsolately back. No such animal,  the
clerk had  said snippily.  Back-ordered. Sounds  like you're  down, he'd
said, malicious glee in his voice.  Always need a good 'cruit to  polish
some of the  mung off these  drive rollers, and  maybe the rest  of your
crew'll give you a hand. Tough titty.

Garvin suddenly stopped. Were all those bolts holding the hangar's  door
slider in place really necessary? They certainly looked the right  size.
He got  his wrench  and buzzed  one nut  free. Perfect, he congratulated
himself, tossing the nut in the air and catching it.

'What the hell're you doing?'

Garvin  jumped a  meter, spun,  and saw  First Tweg  Malagash, red  face
sculpted into a scowl.

'Uh... nothing, top. Just took a break, and I'm going back to-'

'With what in your hand?'

'Uh... nothing. Just this nut.'

'Which you're doing what with?'

Garvin tried to look innocent.

'You ever hear the word  mil-spec, young soldier?' Malagash grated.  'As
in military specification? That nut you just pirated off the door  isn't
authorized on any Grierson I've ever ridden.'

'Nossir, but-'

'ARE YOU ARGUING WITH ME?'

'Nossir, First Tweg, sir.'

'Perhaps  you'd  like  to finish  your  training  with the  motivational
platoon?'

Garvin shuddered. Their duties were simple-dig a hole on the first  day,
fill it in on the second day, dig another hole on the third day, and  so
forth, their shovelwork interspersed with extreme physical training.

'Nossir, First Tweg, sir.'

Malagash glared at him for a moment, relented.

'Go get your vehicle commander,  young soldier. We'll have a  chat about
what you  did... and  whether he's  giving you  proper leadership.  Then
report to the mess  hall. Tell the mess  sergeant his grease trap  needs
cleaning.'


'This is what, in the end, you're all about,' Lir said. Njangu  examined
the rounded, black-anodized box in his hand. It was about 18 cm long,  8
cm wide,  and 13  cm high,  and was  featureless except  for two locking
clips on top,  a guarded trigger  mechanism and a  safety switch on  the
bottom, and  a feed  slot in  front of  the trigger  guard. It  was also
surprisingly heavy-about a kilo and a half.

'Blaster Mark XXI Operating Mechanism,'  Lir went on. 'This is  the guts
to almost everything you'll be carrying. Look.' She held up an identical
box to  the ones  the recruits  held. Behind  her in  the arms room were
several weapons. One was short, about the length of Yoshitaro's arm from
shoulder to  wrist; another,  nearly identical  but a  meter long with a
heavier butt, longer  barrel, and fitted  with a more  elaborate optical
sight. A third, even larger, sat on bipod legs and a fourth was on a low
tripod mount.

Lir picked up the  stubby weapon, turned it  over, dropped the box  into
it,  and snapped  the locks  closed. 'Now  you've got  your  basic-issue
carbine. Pull  the guts  back out'-and  she did-'put  them in  this, and
you've got a sniping rifle. This one's a basic Squad Support Weapon, and
this one on the tripod's a Medium Crew-Served Blaster. All of them  take
the same mechanism, and the ammo  is fed in through the base.  Sometimes
it'll be in a magazine  like this, or a belt,  or even a drum, which  is
what we  generally carry  on patrol,  since I&R's  policy is  to hit 'em
hard, break contact and scoot.

'A magazine'll give you thirty chances to kill somebody, drum a hundred,
and the belt holds two-fifty or five hundred. Here's what the ammunition
looks like.' She picked up a rounded cylinder the diameter and length of
her little finger.

'Neat, no muss, no fuss. All the energy goes out the barrel, burning  up
the case while it goes, so you don't have to worry about leaving a  pile
of empty ammo for the goblins to find.'

Goblins, Yoshitaro noted. Petr'd used the same word. Obviously a generic
I&R term for bad guys.

'We're now going to spend the rest of the morning learning how to  field
strip and clean these suckers. Then  we get to run and lift  weights all
afternoon,' Lir went on.

'Tomorrow morning, we'll start dry-firing, which is about as much fun as
screwing your hand. But  we'll do that for  about five days, then  we go
out to the range and see what we shall see.'


'Gunner!' Dill warned. 'Standby! Target!'

An alarm clanged on Jaansma's control panel.

'Enemy scanning,' Kang's voice said. 'Reaching... I have their TA  radar
diverted. They're blind.'

'Take it on down,' Dill ordered. 'Half meter nap of the earth.'

'Doing it. Skipper,' Gorecki said.

'Gunner! Search to the front.'

Garvin obeyed clumsily, moving his helmet back and forth, searching  the
display inside the faceplate. All he saw at first was a rocky formation,
with a cluster of huts to one side.

'Gunner!'

Garvin looked more closely, and one of the huts moved.

'Target  acquired.  Dec... I  mean.  Skipper,' he  said  hastily. 'Enemy
track... no, there's two of them.'

'Fire when ready.'

'Launch one,' Jaansma said, squeezing  the soft grip in his  right hand.
The Grierson lurched, and a wisp of smoke curled past Garvin's vision as
the missile spat out of its tube. Jaansma squeezed the grip in his  left
and became the missile. He moved  the grip in his left back,  forth, and
the large track grew closer, blast-cannon aiming, then nothing.

'Hit!' Dill said. 'No flames, but it's dead!'

'Launch two,' Garvin  said, keeping back  the urge to  exult, and became
the second missile. The track at the center of his vision spouted  fire,
and Garvin rolled, bucked, was upside down, and the missile slammed into
the hut beside the tank.

'Miss... launch three,' he said,  and another missile went out  from the
Grierson, through the shock wave  of another cannon blast, and  exploded
against the track.

Garvin jerked  back to  main control  in time  to see  the tank's center
turret flip back, tearing armor like paper, and flames gout.

'Area clear,' Dill began. 'Lift-'

'Negative,' Jaansma shouted, seeing movement. 'They're still out-'

'Shuddup, Gunner,' Dill said. 'I have them. Enemy infantry in the  open,
range three hundred meters.'

'Get them  quick,' Kang  broke in.  'They've got  missiles, and  they're
seeking us. I've got serious indicators.'

Jaansma hit the selector  bar with his chin  to choose the chaingun  and
crosshairs appeared across the landscape. He found the infantrymen,  put
his sights in their center.

He slid a crossbar on his right grip, pulled his index finger tight, and
the chaingun outside the Grierson  roared. A red blast swept  the center
of the formation, and Jaansma hosed it back and forth.

'Targets destroyed,' he reported, and  the landscape faded. He took  off
the helmet.

'Not bad,' Dill  grudged over the  intercom. 'Now, let's  try it aerial.
Another scenario.'

Garvin wiped sweat, put the helmet back on.

He... and the Grierson... were  in close orbit off some  asteroid. Below
him on  the surface  missile launchers  opened fire  at other  Griersons
trying to land, and heavy gunships-Zhukovs- slammed smart shells down.

'Target,' Dill said. 'Enemy starcraft taking off.'

Jaansma looked back and forth, didn't see anything, then saw the ship-he
didn't know what kind it was-climbing from behind a bluff.

'Acquired, Skip-'

He  heard  a  dull  thud,  glanced  down,  below  his  faceplate,  saw a
cylindrical grenade land on the deck beside his chair in the  simulator.
An instant later, it exploded,  and white, strangling smoke boiled  out,
enveloped Jaansma  and tears  poured from  his eyes.  He choked, gasped,
tried to breathe.

'Come  on.  Gunner,' Dill's  amused  voice came.  'Where's  the friggin'
starship? Come on, man. Like I  warned you, anybody can do it  when it's
easy.'


Njangu Yoshitaro lay in perfect  position in the dirt, looking  across a
brushy field with dirt splotches here and there. His legs were  splayed,
toes pointing, feet flat on  the ground at a forty-five-degree  angle to
his body. He was on his elbows, blaster tucked securely into the pit  of
his right shoulder.

Lir dropped down beside him, on his right, very close. She held a  small
transmitter in her left hand.

'Ready?'

'Ready, Dec.'

'Load and lock one round.' She handed him one shell. He slid it into the
feed slot, worked the blaster's operating rod.

'First time you've ever shot for real?'

'Yeh,' Njangu lied.

'Safety off.'

He clicked the lever.

'Look downrange. Stand by.'

He obeyed,  both eyes  open, looking  through the  small optical  sight.
Lir's thumb twitched on the transmitter.

Movement! A man's torso  and head came up  from nowhere. Njangu put  the
dot in the sight's center on it, touched the stud.

There  was a  whiplash crack,  the blaster's  butt tapped  his  shoulder
gently, and flame gouted in the center of the target.

'Hit. Center.' Lir said, handing him another round. He loaded.

'Downrange. Stand by.'

Ten rounds later, ten targets had gone down.

'You sure you've never shot at anything before?'

'Would I lie?'

Lir suddenly grinned, tapped him on the shoulder.

'Not bad, troop. You may make it.'

She came lithely to her feet, and moved to where Rada lay.

Yoshitaro sniffed,  smelt ionized  air, something  else. It  was gentle,
flowering, a bit like violets, a bit like frangipani.

Njangu decided his drill instructor, while certainly not human, had good
taste in perfume.



CHAPTER 9

'It's easy  to dream  about what  will happen  when Cumbre  is ours, and
we've finally got a chance to  change things so all practice the  Way of
the 'Raum,' Comstock Brien said to the seven men and women in the jungle
clearing, 'all knowing the Truth,  all obeying the Truth, all  empowered
by the Truth.

'But to sit and dream is ultimately against the Cause, for the Planetary
Government has real spies, their  soldiers have real bullets, and  death
is a serious rebuttal to rhetoric.  First we fight, then we debate.'  He
allowed himself a smile, and six of the seven laughed obediently.

Brien noted Jord'n Brooks' immobile face.

'You don't agree?'

'Of course I agree,' Brooks  said. 'But there's nothing funny  about our
Duty. And we must always be sure we're following the right track, or  we
run the risk of falling into the  same traps as the soh, our elders  who
taught that time and understanding would bring the Way to everyone,  and
were ground under by the pigs on the Heights.'

'Of course, brother. But we must never forget the human values of  love,
laughter, kindness, even in the midst of our struggle.'

'Humanity,' Brooks said flatly, 'is  for after we hold the  Heights, and
eliminate PlanGov.'

Brien's face grew grim, then calm.

'Very well, brother. We can debate this matter this evening. But now  is
the time for action and learning.' He unstrapped a canvas roll, took out
seven small weapons.

'Perhaps you recognize  these, if you  have children. They  aren't quite
toys,' Brien continued, 'but  a young hunter's learning  device. They're
fairly accurate for about twenty meters, which is the real distance most
fighting is done  in these hills.  The gun is  air-powered, hand-pumped,
and shoots small balls of copper. They strike hard enough to kill a bird
or felmet... or blind a man.

'We cannot afford  firing ranges like  the Confederation has,  nor do we
have sufficient ammunition for training. But these will do well to teach
you how to shoot... and hit.'

He passed six  out, plus a  palmful of the  copper shot. Brooks  was the
only one he didn't give a weapon to.

'The first exercise we  shall attempt is tracking.  One of us will  be a
fleeing fugitive, the rest will be a patrol trying to find him.

'When you find him,  please try to remember  not to aim at  his face. We
cannot afford  to lose  a gun,  but we  can afford  less to  lose a man.
Brother Ybarre, you will command the patrol.

'Brother Brooks,'  Brien said,  an unpleasant  smile on  his face,  'I'm
sure, since you breathe and eat the theory of revolution, you'll happily
be willing to play the part of the properly revolutionary fugitive.'

Brooks stood.

'You have a count of twenty,' Brien went on. 'Then we shall come after-'

Jord'n  Brooks  sprinted  into  the brush.  Brien  looked  after  him in
surprise, then shrugged,  and began counting.  At fifteen he  broke off.
'There is no fairness in battle,' he said. 'Go after him.'

The six obeyed,  some moving with  some familiarity of  the wild. others
more slowly  and clumsily.  Brien listened  to them  move away  noisily,
shook his head, remembered he, too, had once been that unpromising.

He went to  the edge of  the clearing, looked  down the sweep  of jungle
toward the distant ocean. To the east, he could barely see the outskirts
of Leggett. One day,  Brien thought, one day.  He heard a slight  noise,
turned,  about to  reprimand whoever'd  given up  on the  exercise,  saw
Brooks crouched. He held the last air gun aimed at the center of Brien's
chest.

'Brother, this isn't-'


There was a pop,  and a pellet thwacked  into Brien's stomach. It  hurt.
Brien jumped.

'I said-'

'Be so good as to lie down  as if you were dead,' Brooks said.  'Or I'll
be forced to shoot you again.'

Brien stared, then obeyed.

'You were right,' Brooks said. 'There is no fairness in battle.'

He crouched behind a tree, waiting in ambush for the others to return.



CHAPTER 10

'You had no trouble before this?' Wilth Haemer, Governer General, asked,
his voice worried.

'None, sir,'  the communications  tech said.  'I was  making the  normal
commo check with my opposite number on Capella Nine, and discovered  the
channel was down. The autolog said it had been down for seventy-three  E
minutes, to be precise.'

'You attempted to reestablish communication with the Confederation?'

'Immediately, sir. I've been trying constantly for the last three hours,
without any result.'

'Nothing at all?' Haemer said. 'No static or whatever you call it?'

'I've  never  heard  of  any problem  with  a  subspace  com, sir,'  the
technician said.  'Especially a  constantly open  channel like  this one
is... was.'

Haemer fumed. 'You're the senior technician? Or is there someone at  the
station with more experience?'

'I'm the  ranking operator,  sir,' the  man said.  'Trained on  Centrum,
seven years' field experience, all ratings AA-Plus.'

'Don't get huffy,' Haemer said. 'I just wanted to make sure.'

The technician didn't  reply. Haemer gnawed  his upper lip.  'Very well.
Stand  by to  record. Message  in Q-code,  personal, to  Alena  Redruth,
Protector of  Larix and  Kura. Message  follows: I  have been  unable to
contact Capella. Are your channels still intact?'

'There'll be a problem  with your message,' the  tech said. 'I tried  to
send a query to Larix/Kura myself, to their Com Division, about an  hour
ago, and got a negative response. Nothing at all, sir.'

'Try again. Redruth won't fail to answer me.'

'Yessir.'

Haemer  turned  to  his  aide. 'Contact  all  Council  members  and Caud
Williams. I want them at PlanGov headquarters within an hour!'

'Very well. Governor,' the woman said.

Haemer started for the door,  stopped. 'Technician, you're aware of  the
gravity, correction, potential gravity of this situation, I assume?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Do not inform anyone, and that means anyone, of this incident.'

'My superior's already been notified.'

'I'll take care of him myself,' Haemer said.

'She's a her,' the tech said.

'Regardless, dammit!  Don't tell  anyone anything,  and that's  a direct
order!'

'Yes-' The  governor general  was gone  before the  technician could add
'sir.'

He whistled soundlessly, touched a sensor, and a microphone dropped from
the ceiling. 'Scramble IX-N-8.' A speaker blatted, then cleared.  'Ybar,
Qual, 23. Balar, Balar, this is PlanGov Central, over.'

'PlanGov Central, this is Balar, over,' a voice answered from C-Cumbre's
single moon.

'Keren?'

'Me,' the voice said.

'The fewmets're in the centrifuge,' the technician said, 'and this  time
it's a real jewel.'



CHAPTER 11

Njangu was company runner. The duty wasn't much-sit in the company outer
office,  field the  com, get  whatever the  Charge of  Quarters, one  or
another of the company noncoms, wanted. It gave the recruits a chance to
clean their gear and relax a bit.

This night was  different. The CQ,  Dec Alyce Quant,  told Yoshitaro Alt
Hedley was still in his office, and had been making calls on the  secure
com for the last three hours. He'd had a plate brought in from the  mess
hall instead of  going to dinner.  Something was up,  and Njangu decided
this perhaps wasn't the best time to be shining boots, and stayed in the
background.

Aspirant Vauxhall and  Senior Tweg Gonzales  went into Hedley's  office,
followed by three  officers wearing regimental  staff tabs. All  of them
looked worried.  Njangu wondered  what was  going wrong.  He hadn't seen
this many officers since his swearing-in.

Hedley  opened the  door. 'Dec  Quant, find  Finf Kipchak  and have  him
report to me.' Njangu noted the use of titles. This was serious.

'Yessir.'

The door closed.  'Recruit, you heard  the man.' Quant  said. 'Kipchak's
in'-she glanced  at the  company TO&E  board- 'Gamma  Team, First Troop.
Hipe!'

Njangu found Petr in Gamma Team's  squad bay. He had a combat  vest hung
on pegs and was examining it carefully. He undipped a holster, moved  it
from high under  the right shoulder  to a canted  position on the  right
side, frowned, shook his head, and put it back where it'd been.

'The old man wants you,' Yoshitaro said.

'Uh-oh. What about?'

'Dunno. He just said get you.'

'Uh-oh twice,' Petr said, found  his cap, checked his uniform,  and went
out the  door. Njangu  hurried to  keep up.  'How've you  been?' Kipchak
asked.  'Haven't seen  you since  the giant  group grope  on the  parade
ground.'

'Keeping busy,' Yoshitaro said.

'I've heard Lir's good at that. You staying above water?'

'I  dunno,' Njangu  said. 'Don't  think so.  I'd settle  for drowning  a
little.'

'Who wouldn't?' They dropped down  the lift to the first  level, hurried
into the company office.

'Go on in,' Quant said, and Kipchak obeyed.

'I'm  going for  caff,' Quant  said. 'They'll  be wanting  something  to
drink, the way officers jawjacknjive.'

She left. Njangu considered, went  to the first tweg's desk,  and turned
on the intercom into the company commander's office.

'... nossir,' Kipchak's voice came. 'I hadn't heard. We were out on  the
range all day.'

'You're the  only one  who's been  in-Confederation in  the last year we
know of, let alone on Centrum,' a voice came. 'Tweg Gonzales thought you
might be able to give us some skinny.'

'I can't really say. sir,'  Petr said reluctantly. 'I'm not  an analyst.
And it'd probably be best for me to keep my tongue.'

'Why?' That was Hedley.

'Because... because what I think probably isn't going to sit well.'

'Try us,' another voice came.

'Go ahead, Petr,'  Hedley said. 'My  compatriots are more  interested in
facts than what fits.'

''Kay,   sir,'   Kipchak  said.   and   said,  coldly,   'I   think  the
Confederation's falling apart. Maybe that's what's happened now.

'Sir, I spent a  year on civ-street after  I got out the  last time, and
things were really screwed. I know sorta-careerists like me're  supposed
to think the  world's going to  hell in a  helmet, but this  time it was
different.

'I never got my proper mustering-out bonus, kept going back for it,  and
the paperwork was there,  there and never here.  Every time I went  near
GovRow, there were more people like me in lines, people needing  things,
and nobody helping them, or some lardass bureacrapjust saying no.

'I started  noticing things  that were  wrong, things  that I remembered
from  before,  and nobody  seemed  to care  about,  at least  nobody  in
authority. The  Met didn't  run on  schedule... sometimes  didn't run at
all. The  liftways'd be  busted, or  cracked, and  people just shrugged.
Crime was way up, but weird crime. People killing each other just to  be
doing it, not  robbing, not getting  anything of advantage  I could see.
Pols got indicted it seemed like every day, and people shrugged and said
that figured. Maybe I was just sensitive, but it felt like the rich were
really rich this time, and the poor were jack-busted. You never saw  the
rich much-they stuck to their own districts, to their own enclaves. They
came outside, they came with bodyguards or maybe got a brick through the
windscreen. Everybody thought that was pretty funny.

'There were riots,' he  went on. 'Like there's  been for the last  dozen
years off and  on, like Tweg  Gonzales and I  had helped put  down, back
when we served together.

'But these were  different, at least  on Centrum. They  weren't just the
slummies and poor folk burning for  the sake of burning, or because  the
food shipment hadn't come in. Now it seemed like everybody had some kind
of grievance they couldn't get taken care of.

'For a while the holos talked  about the same things happening on  other
worlds, but  then that  kind of  reporting stopped  like the govemment'd
pulled the plug  on honesty. There  were a lot  of rumors, rumors  about
systems dropping out of contact, about some sectors talking about  going
independent and quitting the Confederation. I heard a couple of  stories
about shootings  on the  floor of  the Confederation  Parliament, but  I
didn't believe them. Maybe I should've.

'I don't know, sir. Maybe it's all in my head. I read a lot, and what  I
saw reminded me of what I' ve read about other empires when they started
tottering. Rome, England, Second  Mars, Capella. I'm not  real surprised
at this loss of contact.

'Anyway, sir. You asked me, and that's what I think.'

'Thank you, Petr,' Hedley said. 'You can carry on. Thank you.'

'Yessir. Thank you, sir.'

Njangu had barely time to shut the intercom off before Kipchak came out.
He was a little pale. 'Damn,  damn,' he muttered. 'I don't like  talking
to officers.  'Specially when  there's more'n  two of  them.' He hurried
out, and Yoshitaro went back to the intercom.

'... hardly inconceivable,' a voice said.

'But  to  collapse  after  all  this time?  I  mean,  how  long  has the
Confederation been around?'

'A thousand years, more.'

'But when things fall apart,'  Hedley said, 'they can fall  apart really
fast.'

'Especially,' Gonzales  said, 'if  the whole  thing's been  a facade for
years,  and  everybody's  been running  around  propping  things up  and
slapping fresh paint on  every crack. The whole  thing can be dead,  and
never show any signs until...' his voice trailed off.

'The real question,' another voice  said, 'is what about us?  If there's
some problem with the Confederation, if there's a break in the chain  of
supply, communication, whatever, where does that leave us?'

'Define us,' Hedley said. 'The Force? The Cumbre system? Mankind?'

'Screw mankind,' the other voice said. 'Start with the Force.'

'Well,'  another officer  said, 'we're  unquestionably the  big bang  in
Cumbre. I can't see the 'Raum in the hills getting any worse, can you?'

'I sure can,'  Hedley said. 'The  minute they hear  PlanGov doesn't have
the Confederation behind it, doesn't that make it a lot easier to listen
to their dissidents and say screw the Rentiers and PlanGov, too. If  you
were a poor goddamned 'Raum miner, who'd you be taking seriously?'

'I don't  think we  need to  discuss that,  since it's obvious,' someone
said. 'And does the loss of the Malvern fit somewhere into this?'

'Pirates,' someone said harshly. 'Does Caud Williams really believe that
shit?'

'He's got to,'  Hedley said. 'Otherwise,  he'll have to  start wondering
what the hell Redruth is getting up to.'

'I don't  like the  way this  conversation is  going,' an  officer said.
'We're getting a little close to dissension, so I think we'd better  end
it. But I  can't stop myself  from adding this-could  Redruth have known
about the Confederation's troubles-I'm  assuming your man Kipchak  isn't
an empty doomcrier-and started taking care of himself?'

'That's another question we'd better  not answer, and we don't  have to,
as  far as  I'm concerned,'  Hedley said.  'And yes,  let's change   the
subject. Angara, you're married to a local. When it sinks in there's  no
more flipping Big Momma, are people going to go apeshit? Like Petr  said
they're evidently doing on Centrum?'

'Don't think my love life makes me any kind of an expert,' another voice
said dryly.  'But as  a wild-ass  guess, I'd  think not. Cumbre's always
been on the  farside of nowhere,  so there never  was that much  contact
with the Confederation. The Rentiers have their own little empire carved
out, so they could give a rat's nostril about the Homeworlds. The  'Raum
carry their own Nirvana with them.

'Maybe there'll be trouble down  the pike, when things we  can't produce
here start running dry. But even those are mostly luxuries, and nobody's
going to tear down the state because they can't get Vegan champagne.'

'What about the Musth?' Hedley  asked. 'What happens when they  find out
we humans  ain't got  no flipping  Big Stick  to call  on if  things get
rowdy?'

Njangu heard footsteps, hastily turned the intercom off, and helped  Dec
Quant with the tray laden with drinks and snacks. When he'd finished, he
asked if he could go outside for some air.

He stared  up at  two of  the three  moons, one  hanging in the sky, the
other racing across  the stars, then  at the stars  beyond, here on  the
fringes of empire, the coldly glittering stars.

What would happen if the Confederation was gone, had torn itself  apart?
If he was stranded in nowhere for the rest of his life?

Njangu Yoshitaro felt real fear for the first time since childhood, fear
of something he could not see, could not attack could not run from.



CHAPTER 12

Jord'n Brooks listened to the roar of the crowd inside the giant  arena.
Good. The pigs are at the trough, watching their brothers hammer at each
other.

He nodded to the other two, and they got out of the lifter they'd stolen
the day before  and walked toward  the auditorium's entrance.  All three
wore knee-length raincoats against the drizzle whipping in from the bay.

The two private guards at the entrance noticed them, stopped their chat.

'Sorry, boys,' one said. 'We're  halfway through the match, and  they've
closed the gate.'

'Boys my ass,' the other said. 'They're friggin' 'Raum, and-'

Brooks flipped his raincoat open,  brought the blaster up, and  shot the
guard first in the gut, then in  the head as he folded. The other  guard
had an  instant to  see death,  then went  down in  the spat  of another
blaster.

None of the crowd inside the arena's rotunda noticed the shots.

The  three 'Raum  dragged the  bodies to  the side,  behind some  ferns,
pulled the  main door  open, went  unhurriedly inside,  past the crowded
wine stand, up stairs to a door labeled EMPLOYEES ONLY.

A 'Raum shot the lock open;  Brooks kicked the door open, and  the three
burst in, flattening against the wall on either side of the opening.

There were four people inside the office, two men, two women, and  piles
of credits  being loaded  into a  counting machine,  whispering out  the
other side neatly baled and marked.

A woman looked up, saw the guns, opened her mouth to scream.

'Don't!' Brooks said flatly, and her mouth banged shut.

'The credits,' he said. 'In those sacks. Now.'

A man looked worriedly at the men.

'We'll do it,' he said hastily. 'Just don't get upset. No money's  worth
dying for. Just let us go.'

Brooks nodded,  and the  four hastily  dumped bills  into the sacks. The
other two 'Raum picked up the bags when they were full, shouldered them.

'There,' the man said. 'We promise we won't call anyone 'til you're well
gone.'

'Yes,'  a  woman said.  'Just  let us  live.  We never  did  anything to
anybody, and we won't remember any faces.'

Brooks nodded the two 'Raum out the door, backed toward it as they  went
out.

'Thanks,' the other woman said. 'Thanks for not killing us.'

Brooks, face blank, lifted his blaster, touched the firing stud.


'Your Brooks  is quite  the hot  wire,' Comstock  Brien observed.  'Four
appropriations this cycle, without  any casualties. The last  one netted
close to a quarter million.'

'We should have had  him go active years  ago,' Jo Poynton agreed.  'For
the first  time, I  don't have  to worry  about finding  credits for  my
agents, or for other tasks we  have. But hasn't he about run  his string
in Leggett?  Shouldn't we  be thinking  about getting  him out? Isn't it
possible our brother Brooks has even greater talents than robbery?'

'Perhaps,' Brien said.

'We  are short-handed  in the  Planning Group  after T'arg  and  Miram's
deaths,' she said.

'I know.'

Poynton looked intently at Brien.

'You don't like him.'

'No,' Brien agreed. 'I don't.'

'Why not?'

'He... he burns a little too brightly for my tastes.'

'Do any of us have the luxury of tastes?' Poynton asked.

Brien gnawed at a lower lip.

'No,' he said reluctantly. 'No, we  don't. And maybe we need a  brighter
fire, and maybe we can end this in our lifetimes.

'Maybe Brooks is someone we need.

'Bring him  out of  Leggett,' Brien  said. 'We'll  see what happens when
he's thrown into deeper water.'



CHAPTER 13

'Take it. Mister Jaansma.'

'Thank you, I shall. Mister Dill.' Garvin's smile got a little fixed  as
he slid into the Aerial  Combat Vehicle commander's seat. 'Tell  me when
you're strapped in. Mister Dill.'

'I shall. Mister Jaansma.'

The intercom crackled. 'Driver to  ECM... did those two get  a mind-whop
ray or something?'

'This is ECM. Definitely whopped.'

'Silence in the  vehicle,' Garvin said,  and there was.  He took a  deep
breath. 'Driver, twenty-five percent power.'

'Twenty-five percent. Vehicle Commander.'

'Take it off. Mister Gorecki.'

The Grierson came gently off the  deck and drifted out of the  hangar, a
delicate dinosaur  in ballet  slippers. Garvin  felt panic  as his  mind
said. This is for  real, this isn't the  sim anymore, and he  buried the
thought.

He pushed the  select bar  with his  chin. 'Control,  this is  Two-Alpha
Three, clearing for lift.'

'This is  Control,' a  voice said.  'Reported traffic...  two Zhukovs at
east  end  of  pad,  three Cookes  doing  touch-and-go's  on  the grassy
field... clear to lift at commander's discretion.'

'Two-Alpha-Three, lifting to one thousand, proceeding west toward  Tiger
Maneuver area. Be advised vehicle commander is trainee.'

'Roger  that,  Two-Alpha-Three. We'll  stand  by with  the  whisk broom.
Clear.'

'Take it up,' Garvin ordered. 'Fifty percent power.'

'Lifting, VC,' Gorecki said, and the ground on-screen grew distant.

Jaansma touched a sensor, and a map appeared on another screen. 'Do  you
need directions?'

'Negative,' Gorecki said. 'I could do it in my sleep.'

'Negative on faking it,' Dill ordered. 'Jaansma's still learning. Fly by
his instructions.'

''Kay, VC... I mean, Gunner.'

'Don't skate on me, Garvin,' Dill ordered.

'Sorry.' Jaansma studied the map. 'Hold altitude, bring speed to ninety.
Set course two-three-two degrees.'

'Altitude  one  thousand,  speed accelerating  to  niner-zero.  Now over
water.'

The Grierson's course  led south-southwest, across  the gulf toward  the
finger of  land enclosing  it, and  the restricted  training area  named
Tiger.

'Set it on auto,' Dill ordered. 'Here's  what I want you to do when  you
get to Tiger.  Bring this pig  down to about  two-hundred meters... I'll
have you on the deck next time, but I'll give you some slop now... bring
it across the beach, jump over the foothills, and straight in across the
target zone. Got it?'

'I think so.'

'Not think so, dammit,' Dill said. 'You have it or you don't.'

'I have it. Skipper.'

''Kay.' Dill switched channels. 'Tiger Maneuver Control, Tiger  Maneuver
Control, this is Grierson Two-Alpha-Three, inbound your area.'

'Two-Alpha-Three,' came the response. 'We have you onscreen. What's your
flavor today?'

'Set program, uh, Seven-Three-White.'

'Seven-Three-White, roger.'

'We're making  a low-level  assault on  a strong  enemy-held base,' Dill
said, switching back to the intercom, 'part of a regiment-sized  assault
force,  backed with,  uh, five  Zhukovs I  think I  remember. Enemy  has
strong air-to-air capability. ECM, full standby.'

Kang turned  the air-conditioning  up in  her tiny  cubicle. 'ECM ready.
Skipper.'

'Gunner ready,' Dill said from Garvin's normal station. 'Take it, boss.'

Again, Jaansma had a moment of fear, then a swell of confidence.

'Driver... accelerate to three-five-zero. Stand by for contact!'

Just ahead was the 'enemy' coast.


Njangu  Yoshitaro  decided  he'd  had  enough.  Enough  of  every muscle
screaming as it tore,  enough of his lungs  trying to suck wind  and not
having the  strength, enough  ofLir's never-satisfied  howls, enough  of
I&R, and especially enough of the frigging cliff he was only halfway up.

'I quit,' he muttered.

'No talking up there,' Lir shouted from below.

'I said I quit,' Njangu said more loudly.

'One more  word, whoever's  gossiping, and  he or  she's for  the grease
trap,' Lir shouted.

I can't even quit this  horseshit excuse for a life,  Yoshitaro thought,
feeling very sorry for himself.

'Hey,' Angie Rada whispered. Yoshitaro crammed the side of his hand into
the spider-crack,  hoped his  toehold was  better than  it felt, chanced
looking across.

'Looka me,' she whispered.  Angie sat on a  ledge that looked to  Njangu
like a parade ground, almost 10cm wide. 'Don't I look cute.' She put one
hand behind her head, jutted her breasts.

'Screw you,' he managed.

'You can if you ask nice,' she said. 'But love stories later. Guess what
I'm on?'

'I can see.'

'No you can't,' she  said smugly. 'This ledge  widens beyond me. It's  a
frigging turnpike, and goes straight  around the shoulder of this  cliff
to the road. C'mon up. This is the real way to do free-climbing.'

'What's that going to give me?'

'All Liverlips Lir said was get to the top, right?' Rada said. 'Not how,
right? I&R encourages improvisation, right?'

Njangu  wheezed  agreement and  found  the strength  to  scrabble for  a
foothold to the side. and strength  to lever himself up, up again,  then
across to Angle's ledge.

'Follow me,  like the  ossifers say,'  she said,  and Yoshitaro  obeyed,
sidling along the  ledge, not looking  a hundred meters  down to jutting
crags, until it indeed became a path, winding upward.

'Aren't you glad I think you're sexy?' she said.

Njangu managed a nod, while panting.

'Not like Faull,  old strong-and-silent low-class  'Raum,' she said.  'I
would've let him rot hanging there.'  She gave him a sly look.  'Or made
sure Lir heard him quit.'

'Doesn't matter,'  Njangu said.  'Easy way,  hard way,  I'm still out of
this shit.'

'Aw, c'mon,' Angie said. 'We've  only got, what, another two  lifetimes,
then they'll put us into a fighting team. Doncha wanna be a real soldier
boy?'

'Whoopie.' Njangu bent double, sucked air. 'I'm history, I'm gonna be  a
nice happy  grass-trimmer and  garbage-can-emptier 'til  my enlistment's
up.'

'And then what?'

'I'll find a job somewhere.'

'Maybe working for my da,' she suggested.

'What's he do? Probably, with my luck, guide mountain climbers.'

'Nope,' the woman said. 'He's  got six department stores, so  you'd best
be nice to me.'

'If he's so rich, what're you doing in the service?'

'I thought it'd be  a hoot,' she said,  defiance coming into her  voice,
then she looked away. 'And me and Da weren't... getting along.'

'Foolish girl,'' Njangu said.

'Shut up,'  Rada hissed.  'We've got  to get  up to  the crest  and look
proper exhausted for Monkeytits Monique.'

'No you don't,' a voice came. 'You can stay just like you are.'

The two trainees froze,  turned slowly. Just ahead  of them on the  path
stood Dec Monique Lir.

'How'd you-' Angie managed.

'Beat you? Because I'm strong, clean-living and your friggin' god,'  Lir
growled. 'Now, double-time right on up to the top.'

Before  they reached  the crest  all the  aches came  back in  waves  to
Njangu. The other three recruits were waiting, grateful for any  respite
from Lir's sadism.

'You were correct. Recruit Rada,' said Lir, who didn't appear to even be
slightly out of breath. 'I didn't say how you were to get to the top  of
this, and I&R does encourage creative thought. I'm actually proud of you
two.'

'Uh-oh,' Yoshitaro said under his breath.

'So proud, I'm going to let you be an example to the rest of us. I  want
you to go back down the cliff, while the rest of us stroll leisurely  to
the bottom and take a long break. Go back down... straight back down. Is
it clear?'

'Yes, Dec,' the two chorused.

'Bad harmony,'  Lir said.  'Drop down  and do  me some  press-ups. Maybe
twenty-five or so.'

She waited until they finished.

'Now, let's  see some  nice technique  in descending,'  she ordered. 'No
slips, deaths, or even screams. You first, Rada.'

Angie gave  Lir a  hate-filled look,  slid cautiously  backward over the
edge. Lir peered over.

'Do try not to fall,' she advised. 'Now you, Yoshitaro.'

Njangu obeyed.

'Oh, by the way,'  the dec asked. 'Did  I understand you have  something
you want to tell me?'

Njangu was about to bellow his resignation, and then suddenly everything
was funny. He'd broken through some kind of inner barrier, and from  now
on, it might not be easy, but  he'd do it. Hell, he felt good.  He could
duckwalk down the cliff if Lir wanted him to. Yoshitaro laughed.

Lir looked at him closely.

'That's all?'

Njangu nodded.

'Then get your ass down this cliff. It's a long run home, and I want  to
be back before retreat.'


The Grierson  grounded at  the same  instant as  the other Aerial Combat
Vehicle and the two Zhukovs to make the points of a perfect square.

A moment later a  courier boat settled in  the middle of the  formation.
Its nose was the  dark blue/white of the  Confederation, with a ring  of
stars behind it. Below the pilot's  cabin window on either side was  the
green/white/brown flag of Cumbre.

The Combat Vehicle's ramps dropped,  and their crews formed up  in front
of their craft. All wore dress uniforms.

The lock of the courier ship  opened, a gangway slid down, and  Governor
General Wilth Haemer strode out,  flanked by Caud Williams and  a polish
of aides.

'Couldn't you have left a big booger on the pointy end, dammit?'  Garvin
whispered out of  the side of  his mouth. 'We  didn't have to  look this
sharp.'

'Quiet, Gunner,' Dill said. 'You don't have anything to worry about.'

'Easy for you to say,' Jaansma  said. 'You weren't the one who  got told
by His Holiness if he saw me ever ever again I was for the high jump.'

'Don't worry,'  Kang said.  'He isn't  interested in  reviewing us.  Too
windy, too cold.'

It was that on Dharma's high plateau, wet mist blowing past the  ghostly
trees. Haemer  and the  others walked  quickly, trying  not to look like
they were  hurrying, to  the formation  of Musth  waiting outside  their
headquarters, a series of high-ceilinged, polygonal buildings  seemingly
made of clear glass broken with onyx paneling.

The Musth were  in a formation  humans found strange.  A dozen, probably
underlings, formed  a wide,  shallow vee,  and two  others stood  in the
mouth of  the vee,  one behind  the other.  One Garvin  guessed was  the
Musth's commander in the Cum-bre system, Aesc.

Jaansma shut  the governor  general out  of his  mind and  stared at the
Musth.  He'd  only seen  the  aliens in  holos,  and found  them  mildly
awesome. They were big, almost  three meters, with long, sinuous  necks.
They were fur-covered, their only clothing a wide belt with crisscrossed
straps to a  neck-ring and a  pouch in front  like an oversize  Scottish
sporran. On either side were sheathed weapons. Garvin craned for a look,
but all he could determine was that one was an incredibly  long-barreled
pistol-looking object, the other was an unprepossessing box with a strap
on it.

Their fur  was color-banded,  coarse, light  to reddish  brown, going to
black on their paws and tail; with a solid patch from throat to  stomach
that was anything trim yellowish orange to rich orange.

Their lower legs  were big, almost  like a kangaroo's,  but intended for
upright walking; their front arms were smaller, ending in double-thumbed
paws with retracted claws  that would work well  in a knife fight.  They
had short tails for balance.

The  Musth ceremonials  evidently didn't  require rigidity  like  Man's,
Garvin noted, seeing their heads dart about, peering here and there.

Dill's Grierson  had been  chosen with  three other  combat vehicles  as
honor guard for the governor  general's monthly visit to the  Musth base
on Dharma's Highlands.

Haemer bowed to the forward Musth, half whistled, half hissed  something
in the alien's language.

'And I greet you. Governor General,' the alien replied. 'It isss well to
face you once more.'

He turned.

'I would like  to ssshare with  you the knowing  of my sssoldier-leader,
Wiencing.'

The Musth behind Aesc bobbed  his head. 'It isss interesssting  to sssee
your face,' he said.

'Ssshall we go  into the building?'  Aesc said. 'I  sssee you mussst  be
chill.'

'If you have  no objectionsss,' Wiencing  said, 'perhapsss I  might view
your sssoldiery, for I have encountered Man but ssseldom, and am poor at
diplomacccy.'

'Of course not,' Caud Williams said. 'I'll be happy to come with you.'

'There isss no need,' Wiencing said. 'You have busssiness with Aesssc, I
am sssure, and I am content to find my own obssservations.'

Williams frowned, then nodded  reluctantly. 'Very well. I'm  sure you'll
be impressed.'

'I'm sssure,' Wiencing said, and came toward Dill's Grierson.

'Do I salute him?' Dill whispered in panic.

'You better,' Gorecki said. 'We ain't fightin' them yet.'

Ben smashed  his hand  against his  forehead, held  it there. Wiencing's
neck extended sharply  another 30cm in  surprise, darted back  and forth
like a snake's. 'That isss a sssign of recognition?' he asked.

'No, sir,' Dill said. 'It's honor to a superior.'

'I sssee,' and Wiencing brought  his forearm up, lowering his  head, and
stood  motionless. 'I  asssume it  is to  be anssswered  in same,   like
thisss.'

Both creatures dropped their arms.

'You have large beingsss in thisss crew,' Wiencing said.

Dill wasn't sure what  to reply, so just  said, 'Yes, sir. Pure  chance,
sir.'

'Which one isss the gunner?'

'I am,' Jaansma said.

Wiencing walked to Garvin. 'Are you good?'

'I'm still learning,' Garvin said.

'But they choossse you, and your crew, to guard your highessst? That  is
unusssual,'  Wiencing  said.  'Let  me  asssk  you,  Gunner.  When   you
practissse, do you ussse machines?'

'Yes, sir,' Garvin said, suddenly at ease. 'We call them simulators.'

'Sssimulators,' Wiencing  said, tasting  the unfamiliar  word. 'Who  are
your enemiesss on these sssimulators?'

'Other machines,'  Jaansma said.  'Spacecraft. Armored  ground vehicles.
Soldiers.'

'Are the sssoldiers Musssth?'

'Nossir,' Garvin said. 'Men. They wear different uniforms, depending  on
the problem.'

'I wasss told different,' Wiencing said.

Garvin started to argue, kept his  mouth shut. The Musth eyed him.  'But
of courssse you would be  told to lie and not  embarrasss yourssselves,'
he said, and went to Kang.

'Your dutiesss?'

'Electronic countermeasures, sir.'

Wiencing hissed, 'Are you good?'

'I am the best,' Kang said firmly.

The Musth snorted,  a noise Garvin  thought might be  approval, might be
amusement. 'That isss a warrior ssspeech,' he said. 'Each of usss is the
bessst, are we not?'

'But I really am,' Kang said firmly.

'It isss a pity there isss  no way of tesssting your boassst,'  Wiencing
said. 'We ssshould play gamesss of war between our two racesss. It would
be good for usss, good for you.' He turned away, then his head swiveled.
'It will have to passsss another time,' he said. 'When the war comesss.'

Wiencing saluted again, walked toward one of the Zhukovs.

Garvin glanced sideways at Dill, found the big man looking at him.

'I hope he's  still learning Common  Speech,' Jaansma said,  'and didn't
mean what he said.'

'Want to bet you're wrong?'

'Not a chance.'


'Can I ask something,' Njangu said, 'without pissing you off too bad?'

'You can try,' Hank Faull said  amiably. The two sat on Faull's  bedside
locker, cleaning field gear.

'You're a 'Raum, right?'

'Ex-'Raum,' Faull said wryly.  'Or so my soh  would tell you. He'd  also
call me a backslider, a traitor, an unbeliever... you know, the  general
sort of thing that makes up a good soldier.'

'Soh?'

'An Elder,' Faull said. 'A deacon. Someone who intercedes with the  One,
and interprets the Task for us.'

'One is like  God, right?' Njangu  said. 'But Task?  I can hear  capital
letters.'

'Task is our mission... all of us and each of us... here on D-Cumbre.'

'What's the group goal?'

'All of Cumbre,' Faull said  precisely, 'should belong to us.  As should
all of space.'

'Nice unambitious ideals,' Yoshitaro said. 'What about the rest of us?'

'You can either join  us, or else...' Faull  drew the back of  his thumb
across his throat.

'How very excellent,' Njangu said.  'By what right do you...  sorry, the
'Raum who still believe... claim this?'

'Our sohs tell us  that we are First  Men, both in creation  and here on
Cumbre. We  came here  hundreds of  years before  the Rentiers and their
cronies, even if  archeology tends to  suggest we showed  up in steerage
about a hundred years after the first non-'Raum.

'But the legend says when the men who became Rentiers arrived, they  had
the guns, and we were forced to do whatever they wanted. Into the mines,
which is where most of us work today.'

'How'd you get here first? And from where?'

'That,' Faull said, 'is one of those things we're a little vague  about.
Our holy writ is called The  Crossing, and it's very mystic about  that.
Our homeworld is never named,  just described as a paradise,  of course.
Some say we came here pre-stardrive.'

'What, in one of those old-timey punt-it-out-with-a-rocket-and-pray?'

'The Crossing  says the  Sail brought  us here,  on a  wind given by the
One.'

'A solar sail?' Njangu said.

'I don't know,' Faull  said. 'Our sohs aren't  real great on us  reading
The Crossing for ourselves. Better we let him or her read it to us,  and
tell us  what it  means. Mostly  the book  is a  bunch of  lectures that
somebody gave to a Fold, a congregation. The guy, or maybe it's a woman,
who's preaching never gets named.  That's really when I started  getting
in the shit, when I got a  copy of The Crossing for myself, read  it and
had a  whole bunch  of questions  the soh  didn't do  a real good job of
answering.

'My father taught me to make up my own mind from whatever facts I  could
come up with. Maybe  good, maybe bad, but  that's the way I  was taught,
and that's why I started having trouble.'

''Kay,' Njangu said  slowly, 'I understand  the programming. But  do the
sohs tell the 'Raum they've got  to live separately, like I gather  they
do?'

'If  you're  a  'Raum,'  Faull  said,  some  bitterness  in  his  voice,
'everybody knows it. Knows  it by your name,  by your address, by  where
you went to school.'

'With no way out?'

'Except maybe the Force.'

'Which is what you're doing?'

'Which is what I'm trying,' Faull said. 'At least you off-worlders don't
seem to give a rat's nose about shit like that.'

'If you'd stayed a 'Raum,' Njangu  asked, 'you would've had to become  a
miner?'

'Actually, there's a  ton of us  who never pick  the pick,' Faull  said.
'We're merchants, traders... a lot  of us are fishermen or  live outside
the cities, small-farming.

'I'm missing something,' Njangu said. 'If you've got all those  options,
why'd you go soldiering?'

'Those options are bullshit,' Faull  said sharply. 'You can trade...  to
other 'Raum. Farm... but you better not get too big. Open a store... but
it better not compete with the Anciens and their crew.'

'That,' Njangu said, 'sort of blows corpses.'

Faull nodded, turned back to his gear.

'That's the system the Force is defending?'

Faull nodded again.

'One other  question. Everybody  calls the  rich types  Rentiers. What's
that mean? Or was that the name of their ship, or something?'

'That was something I had to  look up for myself,' Faull said.  'It's an
old Earth word for rich people who get richer by making everybody  dance
around their money piles.'

'Shit. So much  for Truth, Justice,  and the Confederation  Way,' Njangu
said. 'It's the  same here  as anywhere  else. We  got the  Golden  Rule
whoever's got the gold, rules.'


Gorecki was teaching Jaansma how  to pilot a Cooke. 'It's  bone-simple,'
he finished. 'Now let's take it out for a field test.'

'Good,' Jaansma said. 'Like where?'

'Off post, maybe around the island,' the driver said.

'Even better,'  Garvin said,  and climbed  into the  driver's seat.  The
drive was already on. Jaansma  fastened his safety straps as  Stanislaus
clambered in. He  eyed the empty  gunmount in front  of him. 'If  we had
some ammo,  I'd chance  doing a  little cross-country,'  he said. 'But I
guess-'

'Hoy,' someone shouted,  and Garvin saw  Ben Dill trotting  toward them.
Over  his shoulder  was a  belt, and  bolstered on  it was  the  biggest
handgun Jaansma'd ever seen. 'You two clowns thinking about going for  a
ride without me?'

'Never happen. Dec.'

'Good,' Dill said, vaulting  into the passenger compartment.  'Let's get
out of here before somebody finds work for us to do.'

'I was gonna have him do a circumnav,' Gorecki said.

'Sounds good to  me,' Dill said.  'Let's go beachcombing.  Take it away.
Mister Jaansma.'

'Immediately,  Mister  Dill,' and  Garvin  pushed the  drive  pedal, and
pulled the  upside-down U  of the  control stick  toward him.  The Cooke
hiccuped, then soared away.

'Didn't like that sound,' Dill said.

'If you don't like failure,' Gorecki said, 'don't hook with a Cooke.'

'Funny,' Dill said. 'I'm choking  with hysterics. Take it low  and fast,
Garvin. I want to eat some spray.'

'Happy to oblige,' Garvin said, and dived toward the water.


'Come  on children,'  Lir shouted,  'or we'll  be late  for our  morning
prayers.'

Njangu wanted to curse, but was  too out of breath. He thought  he heard
Gerd wheeze something obscene, but it was probably wishful thinking. Lir
seemed determined to make sure  none of them survived training,  and had
started taking the recruits for  daily two-kilometer beach runs, with  a
five-klicker every third day.

'Most important muscle a good rifleman's got is his legs,' she  observed
cheerfully, easily running backward along the water'sedge.

'Wrong,'  Angie   Rada  managed.   'It's  what's   between  them  that's
important.'

'You got enough breath for talking,' Lir called, 'sing something.'

'Aw shit,' Rada moaned, but obeyed:

'Oh once I was happy, but now I'm forlorn,

Riding in Griersons all tattered and torn

The drivers are daring, all caution they scorn,

And the pay is exactly the same, the same,

The pay is exactly the same.

'We glide through the air in our flying caboose,

Its actions are graceful just like a fat goose,

We hike on the pavement till our joints all come loose,

And the pay is exactly- '

She broke off, hearing the whine of an approaching vehicle.

'Straighten  up,  you hounds,'  Lir  shouted. 'It's  liable  to be  your
mother!'

The five  closed into  tight formation,  and a  Cooke flashed around the
point ahead. As it closed, the vehicle slowed. Njangu wondered who'd  be
this  far from  Camp Mahan.  Probably some  officer with  his popsy,  he
thought wistfully, trying  to remember the  last time he'd  made love to
anything other than his hand, and  wondered why he'd never tried to  see
if Angie was serious.

He squinted  at the  Cooke, saw  three men  in it.  The man  in the back
stood, and Yoshitaro blinked at  how goddamned big the bastard  was. The
man wore the four rank slashes  of a dec. He threw an  elaborate salute,
and shouted, 'Hyp,  heep, hoop, there,  brave soldiers! Give  us a cheer
for the Force!'

Lir: 'Crash, you bastards!'

Yoshitaro: 'Eat it!'

Milot: 'Hope your dick falls off!'

Penwyth: 'I screwed your sister!'

Rada: 'Your mother gives it away!'

Only Faull stayed silent.

'That's the  spirit I  like to  see,' the  dec shouted,  just as  Njangu
spotted Garvin at the  controls of the combat  car. He managed a  feeble
wave, thought Garvin recognized him, and the car swept past.

Bastard, bastard, bastard, he thought.  Knew I joined the wrong  branch,
and the  Cooke banked  back. He  was too  out of  breath for more than a
crude  gesture, but  a couple  of the  others found  lung space  for  an
obscenity.

The Cooke was  about a hundred  meters past when  Yoshitaro heard sudden
silence. The combat car's antigrav went on automatically, and the  Cooke
bounced to a soft landing on the beach.

The I&R  runners were  in hysterics,  hearing the  drive starter  grind,
grind, grind again, then they were even with the car.

'Going anywhere soon?' Lir taunted.

Dill grimaced.

'Hey, Garvin,' Njangu said. 'It's  a real interesting walk back.  You'll
have time to admire the wildlife.'

Jaansma recognized Yoshitaro  and grinned for  an instant, then  hit the
starter again.

Njangu listened to the long grinding as the runners went around a  bend,
then heard nothing.

'God sort of  does paybacks when  you're being a  wisebutt, doesn't he?'
Dill observed.

'I wasn't saying anything, at least not much,' Gorecki protested.

'The innocent suffer with the guilty,' Garvin said. 'So we're gonna  let
him carry us back,'

'Awright,' Ben said. 'Gimme the com. I'll snivel for help.'

Garvin passed  him the  mike and  heard the  crack, saw  a bright  brass
streak paint itself on the Cooke's  hull about a finger length from  his
left arm, heard  the boom of  some sort of  propellant weapon, then  the
burbling whine as the bullet ricocheted away.

He stared at the mark of the near miss for one instant, then dived  over
the Cooke's side. He landed on  top of Ben Dill, who was  scrabbling for
that enormous handgun.

'Son of a bitch, son of a bitch,' Dill was muttering, then he was up  on
his knees, peering at the nearby brush, pistol sweeping back and  forth.
The gun  went off,  nearly rupturing  Jaansma's eardrums,  then Dill was
running  for the  brush. Garvin  didn't know  what to  do, decided  he'd
rather be a brave  idiot than a cowardly  logician, went after the  dec.
Stanislaus wasn't far behind.

They crashed through the brush,  found Ben kneeling over some  carefully
piled branches. He held up a dull brass shell casing.

'Look at the antique that bastard  tried to kill me with,' he  said. 'He
must've made himself a bed, then  lurked for a target, and only  had the
one bullet. Or else he ran out of courage.'

'Wonder why he  didn't shoot at  the crunchies,' Gorecki  said. 'More of
'em, and a slower, easier target.'

'Guess he thought we were more important,' Dill said.

Stanislaus and  Garvin were  staring at  each other,  realization having
penetrated at the same moment.

'Somebody tried to frigging kill us,' Gorecki said in a hushed tone.

'No  shiteedah,'  Dill  growled,  from  his  vast  experience.  'The big
question is how in  the hell did some  goddamned bandit get all  the way
out here to Chance Island?'

The three glanced reflexively across the bay toward Dharma.

'We gonna go after him?' Stanislaus asked.

Dill thought. 'I'm not that sure he only had one bullet,' he said.  'And
what would I do  with you guys? He'd  probably sneak around and  pot you
while I was  thundering around in  the tules.' He  shook his head.  'I'm
still not sure I believe this.'

'Somebody,' Garvin decided, 'is gonna shit five-credit pieces when  they
hear about this.'

But  all  they were  told  by their  company  commander. Cent  Haughton,
repeated by Alt Wu, their platoon  leader, was to 'be more careful  when
you're outside  the camp,  and what  the hell  were you  doing out there
anyway?'

Nobody ever reported seeing the sniper again.


Lir looked the five up and down.

'You call this combat-ready? Your  gear looks like you've crapped  in it
for a week. Fifteen minutes, full dress. Move!'

The five  clattered back  into the  barracks, cursing  steadily as  they
stacked their  rifles, dumped  combat vests  and equipment,  and started
pulling on dress blues.

'I'm  gonna  kill her,'  Angie  managed. 'Kill  her  dirty and  seal  my
goddamned tunic for me willya, Njangu, thanks.'

'Two minutes left and we're ready,' Faull managed. 'We're getting good.'

They pelted back out, and froze. Waiting in full dress uniform, were Alt
Hedley and Senior Tweg Gonzales.

'Fall in,' Lir  shouted. They obeyed,  and the dec  about-faced, saluted
the alt.

'Sir, the troops are present.'

'Good,' Hedley said, taking a piece of paper from his pocket.

'General order such and such, effective this date, signed personally  by
Caud  Jochim  Williams,  the  following  are  promoted  from  RECRUIT to
STRIKER:

'Faull, Henry; Milot, Ton;  Rada, Angela; Penwyth, Erik;  and Yoshitaro,
Njangu.

'Congratulations. The bullshit's over with. You made it. All of you.

'Welcome to Intelligence and Reconnaissance.'


They  were  waiting  for  Garvin Jaansma  near  the  pond  by Regimental
Headquarters. Dill knocked his legs out from under him, held him pinned,
while Gorecki and Kang grabbed his arms. He flailed, but they lugged him
to the edge of the water.

'One... three, and yo-heave-ho,' and Jaansma splashed down.

'What the hell was that for?' he sputtered when he surfaced.

'You ain't a slimy recruit any longer,' Stanislaus said. 'You is one  of
us, you poor sad bastard. Plus you now get to get off this stinkin' base
and go into Leggett and get into trouble without us.'

Jaansma stood knee-deep in the pond, oblivious to the lily pad  dangling
from one shoulder.

'Come on.  Striker Jaansma,'  Dill said.  'Stop crying  and get your ass
back to barracks. The old man wants to do it official-like in an hour.'


Garvin was sitting on his bunk,  dress blue tunic beside him. Once  more
he reached out, ran his finger  across the new red cloth of  a striker's
single slash.

'It ain't gonna go  away,' a voice said.  Jaansma looked up, saw  Njangu
leaning against the bunk behind him. He, too, wore a striker's insignia.

'Can't believe we made it.'

'I sure as hell can, you candy-assed armored idiot,' Yoshitaro said.

'But I  didn't wander  down here  where you  elite swine  swarm just  to
congratulate you. We got a week pass, y'know.'

'I vaguely remember  the cent telling  me that,' Garvin  said. 'But I've
been a little... excited.'

Njangu grinned.

'Me too. But I paid attention to the important shit. Especially  because
we got Force Maneuvers when we get back, and that'll be a pure whore  on
roller skates. You want to try to get in some serious trouble with  some
I&R rascals?'

'Why  hell yes,'  Garvin said.  'I thought  you'd never  ask...  Striker
Yoshitaro.'



CHAPTER 14

The  cave's entrance  was tiny,  barely a  meter high  and hidden  by  a
thicket. Ten meters within, it opened into a great chamber in the  heart
of the mountain. It was cool, a relief from the tropic night outside.

Twenty men  and women  sat on  blankets in  a semicircle, three lanterns
casting shadows on the high walls and ceiling. All had weapons, and kept
them close at hand.

Comstock Brien stood in the center of the group.

'Are we sure, sister, this report is accurate?'

Jo Poynton shrugged,  held out her  hands. 'My agent  has never been  in
error  before.  But  I  will admit  he's  never  reported  anything this
important.'

'So if it's true, if the Rentiers have lost contact with their overlords
in the Confederation,' Brien mused, 'it is now the task of the  Planning
Group to determine what advantage we shall take of this.'

Jord'n Brooks stood. 'Excuse me,'  he said politely. 'My name  is Jord'n
Brooks. As you  know, I'm the  newest member of  the Planning Group,  so
forgive me if I don't remember the names you've chosen to use, or if I'm
violating protocol in not waiting until more senior members speak.

'It seems  to me  this opportunity  must be  seized immediately! We must
begin  with  a hard  strike,  an attack  that  clearly throws  down  the
gauntlet.'

'Such as?' someone asked.

'I would  suggest a  direct assault  on PlanGov  headquarters,' he said.
'Select a small squad, equip  them with explosives, and attack.  The men
and women will die, naturally, but die as martyrs to the revolution.

'With proper planning and a bit of luck, they will die in the  knowledge
that they've taken a goodly percentage of the Confederation satraps with
them, including that slug of a governor general, if we strike  carefully
and at the proper moment.'

'Pah!' Brien snarled. 'That's the  purest of adventurism, very close  to
antirevolutionary  wrecking!  We  must  move  slowly,  in  a  considered
manner.'

'Insults, labels, have  no part in  a reasoned discussion,'  Brooks said
coldly. 'Are your ideas so bereft of intrinsic merit you must  instantly
attack any contributions from others? Be careful, brother. Such behavior
smacks  of elitism.  We have  no intent  of fighting  against the  harsh
arbitrary  hand  of the  Confederation  and the  Rentiers  only to  have
another dictator emerge from within.'

'Brother Brooks,  you also  must be  wary,' Poynton  said. 'You are also
coming close to antimovement behavior in your choice of words.'

'I  am sorry,'  Brooks said.  'And thank  you for  the admonishment.   I
acknowledge  my  error,  apologize  to  Brother  Brien  and  withdraw my
statement.  Of  course we  must  move carefully,  and  be aware  of  the
possibility of failure, and  not sacrifice all on  a single cast of  the
dice. But we must be careful not to be paralyzed with inertia that might
be seen as cowardice, either.

'Since my first idea was received with such scorn by Brother Brien,  let
me offer an alternative:

'The  Force  will  hold  its annual  maneuvers  in  a  few weeks.  These
maneuvers, here on  the main island,  have been a  popular entertainment
for some years, have they not?  In fact, isn't it common knowledge  that
the final battle game  is to be witnessed  by most of the  PlanGov and a
goodly number of the Rentiers?'

'They are, and it is,' someone said.

'Why can't these swine be attacked  while they're out in the open,  away
from their guards, sensors, and fortresses? How heavy will the  security
be in a time of festival?'

'Even if it is a play war,  we still must worry about the Force,  who'll
be thronging the area.'

'And able to fight back with what?  Blanks? And why do we worry so  much
about them? They're undermanned,  their equipment is aging  rapidly, and
their morale must be low with this loss of contact with their  overlords
in the Confederation. Even the  stupidest, most bestial soldier at  Camp
Mahan must be dimly aware of how repressive he is, and how his iron heel
smashes the 'Raum.'

'You think more of the  average helmet-head than I do,'  someone called,
and there was a ripple of laughter.

'That  is  an  interesting  idea,'  Poynton  said.  'I  gather  you have
developed an overall strategy of your own from there?'

'I have,' Brooks said, voice excited. 'Hit now, hit hard, hit often. Hit
not just PlanGov  and the Rentiers,  but hit those  loathsome vermin the
Musth wherever we find them, in Leggett or up on the plateaus where they
plot our doom.'

'What could that give us? Their empire doesn't appear to be  tottering,'
a woman  asked. 'Suppose  they strike  back? Not  just with the soldiers
they've got in  the Cumbre system,  but with a  battle force from  their
homeworlds?'

'Good,' Brooks  said. 'If  they do,  they'll hit  all men,  not just us.
That'll mobilize everyone to join  together. Since we are the  only ones
who'll have a plan, that'll give us Cumbre on a platter, then, together,
we may destroy the Musth.'

'You think we can defeat the Musth?'

'Of course,'  Brooks said  scornfully. 'We  are 'Raum.  Is there  anyone
among you who think the One who created us to rule would allow the Musth
any victory? Why would the One contradict his simple message and deny us
their worlds, the worlds of the universe He promised us?'

A moment of silence, then shouts of 'no,'

'of course not,' and some smug, satisfied laughter came. Brooks put on a
smile, let it linger for a moment, then went on.

'So we can set aside that impossibility. We hit the Musth, we drive them
back  into  their  enclaves,  then  off  D-Cumbre.  From  there,  as the
situation develops, we will be in position to attack them on their  base
world ofE-Cumbre, and drive them from the  system. With the riches of  C
Cumbre ours we can rebuild and continue our triumphant expansion.'

'Again  I must  remind you  about your  willingness not  only to  create
empires  in the  clouds, but  attempt to  move into  them,' Brien  said.
'Return to  this world,  and what  happens after  we strike during these
maneuvers. No matter how  hard we hit them,  there'll be enough left  of
the Force  to come  after us,  into these  hills. That  will be a brutal
campaign, although I,  for one, would  welcome it, for  it fits directly
into our already-approved strategy,' Brien said with emphasis.

'In my  plan, the  Force does  come into  the hills  after our victory,'
Brooks said. 'But we won't be there to be targets.

'This  revolution should...  must... bury  itself in  the heart  of  the
people. We can  sit here in  the jungle, and  preach to the  odd farmer,
hunter, or peasant,  and our numbers  increase, but slowly,  agonizingly
slowly. And for  each convert, we  lose two to  sickness and one  to the
Force? I do not like those figures.

'Other soldiers here in the wilderness are people like me, people who've
given the most they  can in the city  and been forced to  flee for their
lives.

'I will  be frank.  I do  not feel  I am  giving my  full effort  to the
struggle,  I  do  not  think my  talents  are  properly  used, in  these
hinterlands. I was born and raised  in Leggett, and worked in many  jobs
before I was forced to become a miner and joined The Movement.

'I know  the cities,  and they're  jungles more  impenetrable than these
hills.  That is  where we  should be  fighting the  oppressor, for   the
targets are close,  and easy to  study. When we  strike, we strike  from
such  close range  he can't  use his  assault craft,  his rockets,   his
missiles, his strike ships and his artillery.

'If that is the path we decide to follow, the pressure will be instantly
increased. People hear of  a patrol being shot  at here on the  Highland
walls, and they  yawn. But if  an element of  the Force is  ambushed and
wiped out in the heart of  Leggett, and people see our power...  victory
is much closer.'

Brien started to say something, but Brooks overrode him.

'When we have a little power,  PlanGov and their thugs will turn  up the
heat. Checkpoints, forbidden zones, brutality, all the criminal behavior
of a  tottering regime...  the people  will see  at firsthand what we've
been telling them about the reality of their world.

'They  will hurry  to join  us, and  the Force  will panic  and  further
intensify its persecution.

'It then becomes  a feedback cycle,  brothers and sisters.  Instead of a
handful  of  feverish,  wan,  emaciated  half-forgotten  jungle fighters
waging a bitter war, the  entire population rises in frustrated  frenzy,
and as they do, become our brothers and sisters.

'That is the day of real, final victory!'

Brooks stopped abruptly. There was  complete silence in the canvem,  and
he felt  the power  build, felt  the will  of the  twenty people  strong
within him, and someone applauded.

Brien was  on his  feet. 'Brother  Brooks is  one of  our most  inspired
agitators,'  he  said.  'I  think we  should  admire  the  power of  his
rhetoric. However-'

'Forgive me for interrupting you, brother,' Poynton said. 'I'm not  sure
these matters should be fully debated now, for our blood is running hot.

'I would suggest we table this discussion of Grand Strategy for a  time,
while we all have  a chance coldly to  consider it, and discuss  it with
our cell members.

'With one exception,' she said.

Brien's lips pursed.

'I like what Brother Brooks suggested about using the Force's  maneuvers
against the system,' Poynton went on. 'We have been looking for a  major
action to show our strength.

'What is the matter with Brother  Brooks' idea? We would not be  risking
that many fighters, we would be  striking far from our homes and  secret
bases, and there would be an  excellent chance of doing major damage  to
our persecutors.'

Silence for  a moment,  and the  members of  the group  eyed each other,
consideringly. A man stood.

'I agree. Let's  hit them now,  hit them hard,  and then we'll  see what
happens from there!'

Another, and then a fourth spoke up.

'I see,'  Brien said  coldly. 'Brother  Brooks has  come up  with a very
popular idea. I must admit to reservations, but it may, indeed, be  time
we took the war home to the enemy. How many favor his plan?'

Hands went up.

'There is  more than  a majority,'  Brien said.  'I must  bow to Brother
Brooks' eloquence, and  make it unanimous.  We shall begin  planning the
details at once.

'Now, it is  very late, and  I would suggest  we break up  this meeting.
Some of us have long kilometers to travel and places

we must be seen at by dawn.'

As the twenty picked up their  gear, Poynton came to Brooks. 'There  are
those who might think this small action might

give you a base to build from,' she said in a low voice.

'I suppose so,' Brooks said, indifferently. 'I care little about

that. What I care about is that there can be no real compromise

for our struggle. Not now, not ever, not until total victory.'



CHAPTER 15

'Balls,' drawled Erik Penwyth,  staring at the Recreation  Center. 'Just
like the barracks, only painted more colors.'

'And a shittier location,' Njangu agreed. 'The only thing we look to  be
close to is the sewer works.'

The  Force RC  did look  like former  barracks, clinging  to a  hillside
overlooking Leggett's biggest lubricant dump.

The five strikers wore  undress khakis, short-sleeved shirts  and shorts
with matching knee socks and black-leather sandals.

'Balls said the queen,' Angie added, apropos of very little. 'If I had '
em, I' d be king?'

'Balls ain't no big  thing said the duke,'  Garvin finished. 'I got  'em
and I ain't.'

'Ha. A capitalist, as I don't say,' Njangu said.

'You five have fun, fun, fun,' Faull said. 'I'll see you in a week.'  He
hurried down the hill, and through the rather perfunctory security check
at the Rec Center's gate.

'Dump  on  us  and run,'  Ton  Milot  said. 'What's  he  got  going?' He
whistled, seeing a rather  pretty, obviously pregnant woman  embrace the
ex-'Raum.  Beside her  was a  boy, two  or three  years old.   'Question
answered, the lucky dog.'

'And   who's   she?'   Erik    wondered.   'Is   ouah   Hank    married?
Orjustcohabitin'?'

'Either way's against regs, isn't it?' Milot wondered.

'Sure is,' Angie said. 'Shall we drop the heat a wink?'

Njangu Yoshitaro's face went hard. 'You want to nark him off,Rada?Why?'

'Dunno,'Angie said, looking uncomfortable. 'He's a 'Raum, isn't he?'

'He's one of us,' Yoshitaro said. 'And snitches aren't.'

'It was just a joke,' she said.

'Yeah, joke,' Njangu said.

'Hey, screw you and-' the woman broke off. 'Never mind, huh?'

Njangu  was unmollified  but had  the sense  to nod.  'If we're  through
bickering,' Garvin said cheerfully,  'is there anybody who  really wants
to stay in this  fine joint, known for  its heavily armed roaches  since
Buddha was a finf!'

'Big choice,' Milot said. 'Unless you armored wicks get better pay'n  we
do.'

'My  folks gave  me two  hun for  actually graduatin'  from  something,'
Penwyth said. 'I'll toss that in  the pot, but I don't think  it'll make
much difference spread five ways.'

'Ah, so it's nothing but a matter of money,' Jaansma said. 'Shall I  see
what I can do about that?'

'You need juicing?' Njangu asked.

'Don't think so.' Garvin held out his hands. 'Now heed me well, brethern
and sistern, and may  thy prayers be with  me, for I go  forth among the
unwashed  and  heathen, with  the  hopes of  gladdening  our hearts  and
enriching our life experiences.

'Brother Penwyth, select a place where we shall reassemble, one suitable
to my soon-to-be rich-bitch status.'

'A very classy joint  is the Shelburne,' Erik  said. 'Right down on  the
beach.'

'Then  meet me  there, perhaps  by dusk,  eh?' Without  waiting for   an
answer, Garvin went toward the gate.

'I don't get it,' Erik said.

'Our friend is doing what I think he calls hitting the hustings, looking
for  a  sucker  with   credits,  which  he'd  probably   call  pecuniary
emolument,' Njangu said.

'Your friend sure talks pretty for a striker.'

'Your  friend is  pretty, for  a striker  or anybody  else,' Angie  said
dreamily.

'Yeah,' Yoshitaro said. 'He doesn't like narks either.'

She moved close. 'Hey, I'm sorry I said something wrong.'

'Forget it,' Njangu said.  'Let's go dump our  ditty bags and check  out
Leggett.'

*   *   *

Leggett's center was a broad park, with winding paths and lush gardens.

'Nighttime,' Milot said. 'The hooks'll be out over there.'

'Oh yen?' Yoshitaro said, interested. 'Any murphy men?'

'Huh?'

'Guy who hides  in the bushes,'  Njangu explained. 'The  whore lures the
mark in, her mac slaps him upside the head, jackrolls him.'

'Hell no,' Milot said, sounding shocked. 'What kind of an armpit do  you
think Leggett is, anyway?'

'Not nearly armpitty enough, evidently,' Njangu said. 'Good money to  be
made dry-gulching  murphy men.  But I  guess us  noble sojers  shouldn't
think like that. Lead on.'


The  downtown streets  were winding,  close. The  four soldiers  pressed
close to a small gravsled parked on the narrow pavement as a lift  eased
past.

'Expensive pan  of the  world, eh?'  Njangu asked  Penwyth as  he eyed a
window full of jewelry.

''Tis that,' Erik said. 'And if you got it, flaunt it.'

'Look at that,'  Angie said, voice  hushed. She was  pointing to a  show
window with a  single shoulder bag  in it. The  bag was shimmering  gold
chain mail. 'Isn't that flauntable?'

'Yep,'  Erik  said.  'Only...  six  hundred  seventy-eight  credits. Two
months' pay. It'd go well with your dress blues, Angie.'

'Maybe we'd better go  back to the park  if you're thinking like  that,'
Milot suggested. 'Njangu could pimp for  you, since I get the idea  he's
used to crime. Or maybe I do,  what did you call it. Murphy? Anyway,  no
soldier ever made enough money for something like that.'

'There's a way,' Rada said dreamily. 'There's got to be.'

'So much for my marriage proposal,' Njangu said. 'I'll never be able  to
keep you in that son of style.'

Angie laughed, slid her arm around Yoshitaro. 'I'm forgiven?'

'For what?'

'Thanks,' she said.

'Hey, Erik,' someone shouted, and  the four turned. Across the  street a
woman was waving.

'Jasith!' Erik shouted, and darted between two lifters. The others  went
after him through the heavy, slowly moving traffic.

Njangu decided the  woman was wonh  risking death by  anti-grav for. She
was model-slender,  long black  hair worn  down either  side of  an oval
face,  about  eighteen. Her  lips  were very  full,  and her  sloe  eyes
promised infinite  delights. Small  breasts almost  showed their nipples
over her  top, a  multicolored silk  kerchief casually  tied around them
with a bow on the side. She wore matching shorts and yellow  high-heeled
slingback sandals.

He watched enviously as she melted into Erik's arms, but noted hopefully
that she kissed  him close-mouthed before  she pulled back.  'You make a
very sexy soldier,' the girl said, her voice a throaty near whisper.

'I make a  very sexy anything,'  Erik said. 'I  heard you were  workin'.
Mellusin Mining's on hard times?'

'Oh,  you know,  it's so  dead, and  there's nothing  happening, and   I
thought I maybe would want to run some kind of store sometime, so  Daddy
wanted  me to  see what  it's like.  Veeeehry booooring,'  she said.  'I
thought  it'd  be  interesting, selling  lingerie,  but  it's just  like
working in a  butcher shop or  something like that,  I guess. 'Though  I
don't think I'd care about a twenty-five percent discount on rib roasts.
Maybe  I'll  get  married  instead.'  She  looked  around.  'Who're your
friends?'

Penwyth introduced  them. 'And  this is  Jasith Mellusin.  She's an  old
friend of the family.'

Jasith touched hands with the soldiers. She and Angie exchanged looks of
instant hatred.

'So they let you out of your cage?' Jasith asked.

'Had  to,' Erik  explained. 'I  was just  simply too  good for  them  to
believe. Supersoldier, standin' right here.'

'Good is hard for me to  believe,' Jasith said with a laugh.  'But since
you' ve got a furlough, or an  AWOL or whatever you soldiers call it,  I
assume you're going to Bampur's party tomorrow night?'

'Nope,' Erik said. 'Nobody invited me, now that I'm one of the uniformed
unwashed.'

'Oooh, it'd be a tragedy if  you didn't appear,' Jasith said. 'You  must
come. I've just invited you. You, and your friends. Allah knows we  need
new faces.'

Njangu bowed. 'And if there's faces like yours at the party, Allah knows
we need you,' he said.

Angie glowered, and Njangu pretended not to notice. Jasith giggled.

'My friend here's from  Centrum,' Erik said. 'He  was on that ship  that
was taken by pirates.'

'You were,' Jasith said. 'How'd you ever escape?'

'It's a long and bloody tale,' Njangu said. 'Not suitable for

the ears of virgins, the easily shocked, or the young.'

'Well that certainly doesn't include me,' Jasith said. 'No shit,'  Angie
muttered. Jasith pretended she  didn't hear. 'Tomorrow night,'  she told
Erik. 'But don't be deadly and show up before midnight.'

'I don't even open m' eyes before then,' Penwyth said.

'We'll be there... with bells on.'


'What's in there?' Yoshitaro asked, eyeing a set of open gates.

'Where we don't go,' Angie said.

'Why not? Looks colorful. And there's four of us, all battle-trained and
such,' Njangu wondered.

'It's the Eckmuhl, the 'Raum  section,' Penwyth explained. 'We don't  go
on their ground, they stay on theirs.'

'Nice society you got here,' Yoshitaro said.

'It works,' Angie said defensively.

Milot snorted. Njangu waited for his comment, but none came.

There were seven men about Njangu's age just inside the gates. They were
dressed flashily, and leaned bonelessly against the stone wall.

'There's seven good  reasons not to  go visitin' the  'Raum,' Erik said.
'Local fellers of ill repute, who'd like to see the exact dimensions  of
our purses.'

Yoshitaro buried a grin-the toughs looked and stood about the way he and
his friends  had, back  on Waughtal's  Planet. 'Thanks  for the tip,' he
said, sounding sincere. 'How deep does the 'Raum section go?'

'Three, p'raps  four kilometers  on a  side,' Erik  said. 'Ends right up
against the base of the Heights.'

'How many people live inside there?'

Penwyth shrugged. 'A million? Maybe more? The census doesn't go  inside,
any more'n anybody else.'

'What happens when there's trouble?'

'The 'Raum  take care  of themselves,'  Angie said.  'The coppers convoy
half a dozen lifters through twice  a day to pick up bodies.  They don't
slow down much.'

'The second mate  on my boat  went in there  once,' Milot said.  'Nobody
knows why. He always thought he was tougher'n anything. Maybe he spotted
a girl. The heat found his head  on the gate the next day,' Milot  said.
'We never heard no more. Not

ever.'

'Subtle bastards  these 'Raum,  aren't they?'  Njangu said.  'What about
Hank? Won't he get in the shit, being 'Raum and in the army?'

'Who  knows?' Angie  said. 'The  only people  who think  like 'Raum  are
'Raum.'

'Guess  that's why  the Force  is so  successful against  the  bandits,'
Yoshitaro muttered to himself.


'Hey,' Njangu said. 'Isn't that yours?'

The sign read: RADA'S FOR EVERYTHING. It occupied about half a block and
looked, from its cluttered windows, like it indeed sold everything.  And
at a bargain, for there were signs everywhere: IF WE DON'T HAVE IT,  YOU
DON'T NEED IT. NO PRICE UNBEATEN. EASY PAYMENTS. NO FOLD UNWELCOME.

Angie nodded reluctantly. 'Yeh.'

'Whyn't we  slide in  there,' Milot  suggested, 'and  you get  maybe six
months' advance on your allowance? That'll grease us for the party.'

'No,' Angie said shortly. 'Can't do it.'

'Why not?' Erik asked innocently.  'Here's their own lovin' child,  just
graduated from the hardest school  the army's got and all.  Why wouldn't
they want to make some kind of love offerin'?'

'Love?' Angie laughed bitterly.

'What's  the  matter?'  Milot  asked. 'Don't  you  get  along  with your
people?'

'Leave it, 'kay?' Angle's voice was sharp. 'Just leave it.'

'Sorry  I even  bothered to  learn to  read,' Milot  said. 'Consider  it
left.'

Njangu let the  others go on  ahead, looked at  Angie. 'Can I  ask you a
question?'

'Not  if  it's  about  my family,'  she  said.  'Right  now, that's  not
something I can deal with.'

'It wasn't,' Yoshitaro  said. 'Or, maybe,  indirectly. What's that  sign
mean-No Fold Unwelcome?'

'My family's  stores sell  to anybody,'  Angie said.  'But mainly to the
'Raum.'

'I'm lost,'  Njangu said.  'If that's  where you  get your money from...
why're you down on them?'

'They're dirty, they  breed like rats,  they'd like to  wipe anybody out
who  isn't 'Raum,  and they  ought to  be run  off Cum-bre,'  Rada  said
bitterly. 'If people had any sense, they'd get rid of 'em, and work  the
damned mines with  their own people.  But they won't.  People always let
somebody else sling their shit. One of these days, it's gonna come  back
on them.'

Njangu eyed her, decided he'd gone close enough.

'Hey,' he said softly.

'What?' she snapped.

He  cupped her  chin in  his hand,  kissed her.  Her eyes  went wide  in
surprise, then her mouth opened, and her tongue curled against his, arms
going around him.

'Hey,' Penwyth shouted, 'come on, you two. No frater-nizin'in ranks!'

She looked up at Njangu. 'I hope you're not giving out tickets you don't
plan on  punching,' she  said a  bit breathlessly.  'I thought  you were
going to go antsy over that rich bitch back there.'

Njangu wiggled his eyebrows. Angie laughed, and Yoshitaro thought it was
a very pleasant sound.


'So much for  wild, banzai soldiers  on reckless leave,'  Angie snorted.
'Turn  us loose,  and what  do we  do? Stroll  the friggin'  docks  like
friggin' tourists looking at friggin' boats. We've been on pass most  of
a day now, and  had two beers each,  one pretty crappy meal,  and a nice
frigging stroll is all.'

'What's the matter with that?' Milot  asked. 'Being close to the sea  is
relaxing.'

'If I wanted relaxation, I could've taken a nap at the Rec Center,'  the
woman said. 'I'm  looking for something  resembling action. You  know...
dicks, drugs and doowah?'

'Pick a bar, any  bar,' Erik said. 'They  all look like we  might find a
disgustin' brawl.'

Njangu looked up and down the waterfront. 'No kid,' he said. 'But  would
just a plain simple brawl make our Angie happy? Doesn't there have to be
a good body count and... and what the hell's going on over there?'

Six men were pushing  a young, ragged-looking peddler  around. Yoshitaro
heard shouts of 'damn 'Raum,'

'toss him in th' bay,'  and 'boot him, Sayid.' The  boy's wares-brightly
plated knickknacks-were scattered in the street.

Sayid was about to obey when a quiet voice stopped him. 'You don't  even
want to do that.'

He spun, saw Njangu. 'Butt out, sojerboy.'

'Sure,' Yoshitaro said agreeably. He spun sideways, and his foot snapped
up, raked down Sayid's  tibia, and smashed the  arch of his foot.  Sayid
howled, bent, and Njangu snapped a punch into the man's jaw,  recovered,
dropped him with a hammer strike on the base of the neck.

Another man grabbed Njangu's collar, and Njangu turned into him, brought
a knee up into the man's  stomach, let him fall, vomiting, as  he turned
again.

A third man had a knife out of  a belt sheath, and Milot had his arm  in
both hands, smashed it across his lifting knee, and the bone snapped.

Ton barely ducked a punch as Angle's knife hand struck into that  fourth
man's gut. The man gagged and collapsed.

Njangu kicked the first in  the head twice, very hard,  without lowering
his foot. The man whimpered, staggered away, both hands over the  bloody
mess that had been his face.

The last man was holding up both hands, backing away, as Erik,  grinning
savagely, closed on him.

'Nuh-uh, nuh-uh, not my doing, not my concern,' he said quickly.

'Then get the hell out.'

The man obeyed, ran about  ten meters, then started screaming,  'Police!
Help! Police!'

Njangu helped the boy to his feet. 'You better scoot, little friend.'

The 'Raum glowered, spat, and ran into an alleyway and was gone.

'Nice,' Njangu muttered sarcastically, mopping his face with his sleeve.
'Virtue's sure as hell  its own reward. Now  let's beat feet before  the
law materializes.'


'Wup,' Njangu said, as they trotted past the entrance to a hotel  fairly
oozing  class.  Several  luxury  lifters  were  unloading ostentatiously
wealthy passengers, and uniformed help hustled here and there. 'In here.
Nobody'd look for four soldiers in a ritz dive like this.'

'And we are supposed  to meet your friend  here,' Penwyth said. 'At  the
very least, we can feed our darlin' Angie a drink.'

They slowed, tried  to look suitably  arrogant, failed, and  entered the
Shelbume. The lobby was  all old-fashioned over-stuffed leather  chairs,
dark wood,  and engravings  of people  in red  coats jumping four-legged
beasts over fences.

'Now, where would the bar be?' Njangu wondered.

'These are sure not my people,' Ton Milot said. 'Let's scoot. I'd rather
face the cops.'

A clerk curled a lip as he saw them, then his expression changed.

'Mister Penwyth! I didn't know you'd gone into the services.'

'I felt it was my patriotic duty,' Erik drawled, in as snotty a tone  as
he could manage.

'But of  course, and  it's a  delight to  see you.  Are you  planning on
dining here?'

'My plans,' Erik  said, 'are nebulous  at the moment.  Actually, we were
hoping to meet a friend. A Mister Jaansma.'

'Yessir,' the clerk said. 'He checked in about an hour ago. Oh, you must
be the party he told me  to expect. Your rooms are waiting.  Six seaview
rooms... I was able to  put all of you on  the ninth floor... I do  wish
Mister Jaansma had told me you'd be among his party. Mister Penwyth.

'Perhaps if you'd sign in... and how are your parents these days?'

'Spending most of  their time on  the out islands,'  Erik said. 'They've
closed down the main house on the Heights.'

'Ah,' the  clerk said,  pushing an  archaic register  toward them. 'That
explains why I haven't seen them for a while. We're delighted to welcome
you all to the Shelbume.'

*   *   *

'I  had your  stuff brought  over from  the Rec  Center,' Garvin   said,
lounging on the bed. 'Save the wear and tear.'

'You must've found somebody real rich,' Angie said.

'And dumb,' Ton Milot added.

'That's a big affirm  to both,' Garvin said.  'Now go brush your  teeth,
and we'll rendezvous in the bar in half an hour.'

Njangu lingered for a moment.

'You did a pretty good job of impressing those people.'

'Njangu, my friend, I did a pretty good job of impressing me, even if it
was my deck. Those fools insisted  on handing me money in bales,  almost
like they thought  it was a  straight game. So  we should have  a fairly
adequate leave.

'I've found one thing in  his life,' Garvin added. 'Whether  you're rich
or whether you're poor, it's nice to have credits.'


Njangu  wandered around  his room,  face still,  his mind  on the  past,
touching the  raw silk  curtains, playing  with the  sensors on  the com
center, looking at the array of  bottles in a wall cabinet, staring  out
the window at the calm twilight  sea. Not ever like this, he  thought. /
never ever thought 1 would-

There was  a light  knock... no  more than  fingernails... at  the door.
Njangu opened it. Angie was there, holding her small ditty bag.

'You ready to go downstairs?' she asked.

'Mmmh,' Njangu said neutrally.

'I told Garvin we might be a little late.'

'Mmmmh?'

'I don't know  about you,' she  said, 'but I'm  a lot hornier  than I am
thirsty.'

'Mmmmh.'

'Would you be interested in doing something about that?'

She stood  next to  the bed,  hipshot, and  slowly ran  a thumb down her
tunic seal, let  it drop. She  wore a black,  lacy brassiere, not  issue
khaki. Her nipples were hard, erect.

Njangu undressed, watching her take off her shoes, socks, and pants. She
lay back across  the bed, lifted  one heel up,  let her leg  fall to the
side.

'Well?' she murmured.

Njangu walked across the room, bent over her.

*   *   *

'That was quick,' she said, a few minutes later.

'Sorry,' Yoshitaro apologized. 'It's been a while.'

'Don't apologize,' she whispered. 'You're still ready.'

'Trying to be,' Njangu said. 'So whyn't you put your legs around my back
and we'll see what happens?'

Angie obeyed, and her wet mouth opened, moved for his.

They never did make it to the bar that night.


'You appear a bit disheveled,' Erik said cheerily as he poured caff  the
next morning.  Njangu yawned,  made a  rude gesture,  and Angie curled a
lip.

'He,' Penwyth went on, indicating Garvin, 'looks like rat-shit on rye.'

'If you  think I  look bad  from there,  you oughta  see things from the
inside,' Garvin moaned.

Ton Milot chortled.

'We sat at the bar waiting-'

'-and drinking,' Erik said.

'-and drinking,' Ton continued, 'and all of a sudden it got drunk out.'

'/ was staying pretty clean-cut,' Garvin objected. 'For a while.'

'Actually, he was,' Erik agreed.

Njangu evaluated Jaansma. 'Then what happened? You step on a  rhinoceros
or something?'

'There was a band,' Garvin offered weakly. 'And they had a singer.'

'Who's partial to blonds,' Erik  said. 'Marya's got a savage  reputation
for what she does to men. The  rest of us lesser mortals had to  make do
with availables in the audience. Thank Heaven.'

'My available wasn't all that fine,' Milot complained.

Garvin moaned.

'Poor baby,' Angie offered, patting his hand.

'My peck... my something  feels like it  went through one  of those  old
timey clothes wringers,' Garvin said. 'That woman has more strange ideas
of what's a good time...guys, we can't be drinking in that bar  anymore.
She said  something about  getting together  again. One  more night like
that, and I'm undone.'

'Tsk,'  Penwyth  said. 'Don't  forget  the party  tonight.  Bound to  be
clusters and  globules of  beautiful young  debutantes, just  itchin' to
make the acquaintance of a long-dicked stranger with money.'

'What party?' Garvin demanded.

'That's right, we forgot  to tell the lad,'  Erik said. 'A terribly  big
thing.  At Bampur's-he's  a bit  richer'n the  Creator-estate. It'll  be
interestin', because either the family's around, in which case it'll  be
old farts tryin' to get naked with young talent, or else the  Bampurs're
off  on  their  island,  which means  it's  the  daughter's  shinny, and
everybody'll be  tryin' to  get naked  with everybody  else.' He slapped
Garvin on  the shoulder.  'So buckle  up, old  boy. The  best is  yet to
come.'

'What am I gonna do?' Garvin moaned again.

'You need some nice water sports,' Njangu offered.

'That was  what Marya  said last  night,' Jaansma  said. 'And  I didn't.
Lord, Lord, how I didn't.'

'Off your  dead ass  and on  your dying  feet, troop,'  Njangu said.  'A
little clean-cut exercise is all you need.'


Garvin reluctantly admitted he might live after an hour being smashed by
the long,  rolling swells  that swept  onto the  manicured sands  of the
hotel's beach.

He came out of the surf to where the others lay on the sand.

'Enough,' he announced. 'It's time for a beer... then shopping.'

'Who put you in charge of this glee club, anyway?' Angie demanded.

'I'm buyin',' he announced. 'So we're all flyin'.'

'For what?' Milot asked.

'For clothes what don't look like uniforms,' Garvin said.

'What's the matter with uniforms?' Milot asked.

'They make you look like a soldier,' Jaansma explained.

'And what's the matter with that?'

'Lordy, Lordy,  Lordy,' Njangu  said. 'I  can see  why he likes fishing.
It's an intellectual match between him and ol' Scaley. Hipe!'

*   *   *

Ton Milot drank beer and eyed Njangu and Garvin.

'Got a question for you two.'

'Anything,' Garvin said.

'Yeh. We lie cheaper'n anybody,' Njangu said.

'Since you're offworlders, and it appears nobody's gonna get back to the
Confederation for  a while,  are you  gonna go  career and  stay in  the
service?'

'Screw you.'

'I'm not being cute,' Milot persisted. 'It's pretty easy to guess what's
gonna  happen to  the rest  of us.  Erik'll go  back to  being rich  and
working a  couple hours  a week  at his  da's trading  company. Angie...
well, up 'til she ripped my  face off yesterday, I would've guessed  she
would've  done her  hitch, got  out, and  maybe taken  over one  of  her
family's stores.'

'Hey, Ton,' Angie said. 'I'm sorry. I didn't have any right-'

'Forget it,' Milot said.  'I never was good  at sub-tile, anyway. Me,  I
get out, wonder  why the hell  I went in  in the first  place, get on  a
boat, and hopefully do good enough to get one of my own.

'But  you  two?  What  you  just  said,  Njangu,  makes  me  think   you
would'vejust done your time, and gone back to wherever you came from-'

'Wrong on that  one,' Yoshitaro said.  'I go back,  there'll be a  judge
wanting to talk to me. Exile's permanent where I came from.'

''Kay, then,' Milot persisted, 'what will you do?'

'Dunno,'  Njangu  said,  staring  into his  beer.  'Get  out,  for sure.
Whatever's cut us off from the Confederation can't last forever. Get  my
ass back to something resembling civilization, I guess. Maybe figure out
some kind of hustle for Centrum.'

'Which brings  up my  question,' Penwyth  said. 'Yesterday,  when we got
into it with  those Neanderthals over  the 'Raum offspring,  I noted you
behaved in quite an experienced manner.'

'I paid attention in hand-to-hand fumbling,' Njangu said.

'I name that pure  bullshit,' Erik said. 'They  never taught me to  kick
head-high once, let alone twice  without recovering. It would appear  to
me  you've  been  some  sort  of  professional  at  this  bodily  damage
business?'

'Not me,' Njangu said. 'A little peaceful lambikins.' He  ostentatiously
changed the  subject. 'Isn't  it interesting  that here  we are, cut off
from Big Momma  Empire, and nobody  seems to give  a shit or  go jumping
around in a blind panic? That ain't the way it'd be played in the  holos
everybody'd  be running  around skreekin'  and skrawkin',  'Catastrophe,
Catastrophe.'

'Big things take a long time  to trickle down,' Garvin said. 'Sooner  or
later, we'll feel it, when we can't get Earth pepper, or granny's little
annuity doesn't come  in. Thank gods  the beer at  least's made here  on
Cumbre.' He poured about half his glass down, signaled for more.

'Come to think about it, what the  hell happens if we' ve got to  handle
problems offworld? Say about the  mines on C-Cumbre, which I  understand
is part of  our terrain. Speaking  as a big-time  gunner on a  Grierson,
it'll be a long and crowded  goddamned trek with a couple assault  teams
in the back.'

'The Force has  civilian cargo ships  already under charter  for pappery
like that,'  Erik said.  'My father  makes just  pots of  money off  the
government keepin' a couple on standby.'

''Kay,' Garvin persisted. 'That's for simple things. But suppose we have
to  go interstellar?  Suppose somebody  like Caud  Williams or  Governor
Dickhead  T. Haemer  decides we  should go  out and  find those   'space
pirates'  who just  happen to  hang their  helmets on  Larix and   Kura?
Where's the Confederation Navy that's  gonna haul our asses over  there,
beat shit out of whoever the hell's king shit's navy, then give us  fire
support on a landing?'

He  looked around  the table.  Only Njangu  appeared interested  in  the
topic.

Angie yawned ostentatiously. 'You're raving, Garvin.

Drink more beer.'

'Somebody'll no doubt figure out  something if that happens,' Erik  said
vaguely. 'Besides we're just line-slime. We're not s 'posed to worry.'

'But... aw, screw it,' Garvin said, and followed Angle's suggestion.

'Let's go back to my first question,' Ton said. 'What about you, Garvin?
What happens when they hand you the discharge?

'My fate is easily determined,' Jaansma said, striking a noble pose.  'I
shall return to  my rightful place  as the dauphin  of the continent  of
Prance on Earth, and collect sluts by the score.'

'Yen, Dauphin,' Milot said. 'I was being serious.'

'So was I,' Garvin said, 'but  you won't believe me. So how  about this:
I'm gonna find  me a circus  on hard times,  buy it and  make the damned
thing go, and show  the folks in the  outback the biggest hooraw  you've
ever seen.'

Njangu was about  to laugh, then  saw Garvin's expression.  'Circus?' he
said, before anyone else could try a wisecrack. 'Sounds like a good  way
to go crazy.'

'It is,' Jaansma said, still serious.

'Enough of  this nonsense,'  Njangu said,  standing and  fishing in  his
pocket for money. 'Let's go make ourselves look pretty.'


Laughing, joking, none  of the five  noticed the unobtrusive  man follow
them down the beachfront walk.


'Well?' Angie said.

'Well,' Ton Milot  said skeptically, 'I  don't look like  a fisherman...
and I sure don't look like a soldier.'

'Exactly what we wanted,' Garvin said. 'You're supposed to be one of the
idle rich, assuming Erik gave us good advice on what's fashionable  here
in the capital.'

All of them wore civilian sandals. Angie wore a multicolored short dress
of a silky material that  iridesced light reds, oranges, pinks.  The men
wore loose-fitting  drab-colored pants,  and brightly  colored shirts in
various styles. Garvin had chanced a floppy-brimmed hat.

'So what now?'

Njangu checked  a watch  finger. 'Going  on three...  maybe back  to the
beach, then something to  eat, then nap 'til  this party, which we  were
told not to show up for until midnight.'

'I've been thinking about tonight,' Milot said. 'No offense, Erik, but I
don't want to go there and step on my dick.'

'You won't, my  man,' Penwyth said.  'It's just going  to be a  bunch of
people relaxin', not some horrid sort of formal banquet.'

'People who're all rich,' Milot said.

'Not all. Some of 'em are just pretty an' available.'

'That's not my  kind of thing,'  Ton said. 'If  it's okay with  you, I'd
just as soon slide  on out.' He looked  sheepish. 'I kind of  want to go
see what my family's doing.'

'I'm  with you,'  Angie said.  'I'd prob'ly  do something  stupid,  some
asshole'd say something, and I'd have to do him. You want company?'

Milot looked surprised, then nodded. 'It's just a little village, on the
other side of the peninsula.'

'Issus?'

'Sure,' Milot said. 'You know it?'

'When I was a kid,' Angie  said, sounding wistful, 'my ma took  me there
for... I guess it  was three days. She  and Da were having  some kind of
trouble. I remember we stayed in this little hut, and ate a lot of fish,
and nobody bothered  us. I liked  it a lot.  I thought things  were like
they must've  been in  the old  days, before...  well, before things got
weird.'

'Hey,' Milot said. 'Nothing's changed much. Come on. You'd be welcome.'

Angie looked at Njangu. 'I'm sorry, babe.'

'What sorry? Sorry you didn't invite me?'

'I thought-'

'There you go,' Yoshitaro said, 'thinking again. You're only a  striker,
woman, and you're trying to do Mark  II thinking with a Mark I brain.  I
love the tules, and since Milot has the manners of a toad, I'm  inviting
myself to go fishing, 'kay?'

Garvin made a face at Penwyth.

'How about that shit? Forsook and forlorn by my best comrade.'

'Doesn't bother me  in the slightest,'  Erik said. 'No  one ought to  do
what she or he hasn't the inclination.'

Garvin dug into his pocket. 'Here's two... three hundred each, children.
Don't spend it all in one place.'

'Thanks, Father,' Njangu said.

'Don't thank me,' Garvin said  piously. 'It's all to the  good... having
too many people around who know me cramps my style.'


The unobtrusive  man followed  them back  to their  hotel, then found an
alcove and took out  a small com. He  keyed numbers. There was  a click,
and a woman's voice said 'Report.'

The man keyed a second set of numbers into the com's built-in scrambler.

'They now wear civilian garb,' he said, and described what the five were
wearing. 'No  attempt made  to communicate  with anyone.  I tried to get
close to them  in the bar,  but all I  could hear was  they were talking
about the Force. I don't know  if it's important, but they were  talking
about  military  things I  don't  think an  average  soldier would  know
about.'

'Was  there any  indication on  what they  hoped to  achieve with   that
carefully  planned rescue  of that  child of  ours?' the  woman's  voice
asked.

'Negative,' the man said.

'Continue surveillance, but take no other action,' the listener ordered.

'Understood.'


Ton Milot had stubbornly insisted  on changing back into uniform  before
they caught the 'rail over the mountains.

'Twenty  percent discount  for people  in uniform,'  he said.  'Plus  my
folks'll be pissed if I'm not looking purty.'

'If they  expect purty,'  Angie said,  'we better  bring along a plastic
surgeon,' but she and Njangu had done the same.

'We've got half  an hour 'til  the pod goes,'  Milot said. 'I  called my
folks and told them we were incoming.'

'Yeh,' Njangu said absently, staring at the glass window of a shop.

'Entranced by his own reflection,'  Angie said. 'That's okay, 'cause  he
is pretty.' She squeezed his arm.

'Pass  on  pretty,' Yoshitaro  said.  'Don't look  back,  but check  our
reflection in this next window.'

'Definitely three good-lookin' sorts,' Milot said.

'With  a tail,'  Njangu said.  'See that  little guy  back there...  no,
goddammit, don't look!'

'Looks like not much of anybody,' Milot said.

'Good beaks don't,' Njangu said.

'You're being paranoid.'

'He was with us the last two turnings,' Yoshitaro said. 'I'm paranoid.'

'Who cares? We've got nothing to hide,' Milot said.

'I always do,' Njangu said.

'So what do we do? Dry-gulch  him?' Angie asked. 'If he's copper,  we'll
get our butts in a tangle.'

'No. We'll turn right here, and go down this block,' and the two  obeyed
him. 'Cut in this store, then we'll go back out the other entrance. Come
on now! Run!'

The three darted  around a corner.  A moment later,  the unobtrusive man
appeared, looked about, muttered under his breath, went into a  doorway,
and  dialed numbers  on his  com. When  the ringing  stopped, he   said,
'Three-one-one-five.'

'Listening,' the woman's voice said.

'I still don't know what they are,' the man reported. 'But they lost me,
very neatly.'

'They're professional?'

'Looks like it.'

'Go back to the  hotel,' the voice ordered.  'There's still two of  them
there. Team with Lompa, and this time stay with them\'

'There'll be no more surprises,' the man said grimly.



CHAPTER 16

The silver monorails arced across the city, the center of the  spiderweb
a hangarlike stone building. The pod for Issus slid out of the station's
roof and the  track climbed. Njangu  saw the broad  lawns around PlanGov
Headquarters, then the Eckmuhl, the walled  'Raum quarter with its  high
rising, shabby  apartments leaning  together, about  to tumble  into the
narrow, winding streets.

The rail  climbed the  bluffs on  nickeled pylons,  passing close to the
wealthy enclave  of the  Heights. Angie  chattered away  about the great
mansions and the beautiful gardens. Njangu wondered for an instant  why,
if she were so fascinated by this wealth, she hadn't wanted to go to the
party tonight, somewhere down there.

Then he went back to worrying  about that follower. Who? Some friend  of
the idiots we gave lumps to? Not likely-if they'd been able to find  out
where Njangu and Company were staying, they might've gotten twenty other
yutzes and  lurked in  an alley.  But just  trailing us?  No. Who  else?
Coppers? But why? The police could give a shit if a few waterfront goons
get their body structure readjusted.

Military Intelligence? Njangu assumed, without any reason, the Force had
spies. But he'd done nothing wrong,  at least on this world. What  about
the others? Ton Milot? Fishing without a license? Angle Rada? For  being
oversexed? Balls. Which leaves... leaves  nobody. At least nobody I  can
think of.

Njangu  let it  swirl around  his brain  once more,  then dismissed  the
matter and looked out and  down lush jungles, wondering what  was hidden
under the canopy, realized he'd no doubt find out shortly, either in the
war games or the real patrols I&R ran against the bandits.

Njangu leaned back, and Angie put her head on his shoulder. That sparked
another curiosity. Why  hadn't they just  stayed in their  hotel room if
they hadn't wanted to go  to Erik's friend's party? Angie  certainly was
an interesting enough pastime. That had been a third option. Why  hadn't
she suggested  that? Did  she think,  maybe, Njangu  wouldn't have  been
interested. Why  hadn't he  come up  with the  idea? Screwing was better
than fishing from any perspective.

Oh well, he thought. Nobody's dumber than a soldier. Of any sex.


'Good gods,' Njangu shouted, leaning  close to Ton Milot, 'did  you tell
them you'd been made commander of the fleet or something?'

'We're pretty patriotic,' Milot shouted, and the band broke into another
ragged  but enthusiastic  march. A  very pretty  girl, about  two  years
younger than Milot, with brown  wavy hair, clung to the  soldier's waist
like a limpet. She'd been introduced as Lupul.

'Isn't that the national anthem again?' Angie asked.

'I  think so,  so maybe  we better  stand up,'  Njangu said.  They  did,
weaving just a little bit.

Issus sat around  a nearly enclosed  bay, on a  low cliff twenty  meters
above the  water and  docks. The  houses were  hardly Angle's remembered
'huts,' but  simple wood-framed  shelters with  sharp-angled roofs.  The
center of the town was a turf-paved square with businesses, the monorail
station, and the town  hall around it. Njangu  guessed it was some  sort
ofD-Cumbre  custom to  put a  park in  the town  center, and  thoroughly
approved.

It seemed every one of the village's two-thousand-odd people were packed
into the square, cheering their son who'd made good.

'Yen,' Njangu agreed. 'Patriotic. Pass the jug.'

'Better not,' Ton warned.

'Why not? Everybody's a lot drunker'n we are.'

'Yen,' Ton said. 'But they ain't going fishing. We are.'

'What's this we shit?' Angie said, grabbing a passing flask and inhaling
the  clear, slightly  oily-tasting local  distillation with  enthusiasm.
'You got a midget in your pocket?'

'You don't  have to,'  Milot said,  'if you  want to  play the old weak,
feeble, helpless woman excuse.'

'Uh-uh,' Angie  said. 'I'm  no dummy.  Water's fine  for a  bathtub, but
there's waaaaaaaaaay too much of it out there for me. You big bwave  men
go into the  vasty deeps.' She  fluttered her eyebrows.  'I'll stay here
and worry myself drunk.'

'Any possibility I could get away with the same line?' Njangu tried.

'Not a chance,' Milot said. 'I've got to prove that I haven't  forgotten
my roots,  and you've  got to  prove your  worthiness to  be honored  by
Issus.  First  we  fish,  then  we  come  back  and  there'll  be  a big
celebration.'

'What do you call this?' Njangu asked, waving a hand at the crowd.

'Just warming up,' Milot said.

'And what're we fishing for, anyway? It's getting dark.'

'We're going after ba rraco,'  Milot said. 'They're big, nasty  mothers,
carnivorous, that'll go about, oh, eighty kilos or so. We harpoon 'em.'

'Are they good eating?'

'The best.'

'What do they think about us?'

'The best.'

'Whyn't we think about something a little smaller... and, maybe, safer,'
Njangu suggested.

'Don't worry,' Milot said. 'I'll be the one with the harpoon.'

'What do I do? Hold your hat?'

'Nope. You'll be bait.'


Milot wasn't  being funny.  Njangu Yoshitaro  clung precariously  to the
pulpit railing, gently moving a lantern back and forth, while the lifter
floated slowly just  above the calm,  phosphorescent sea. Ton  Milot was
beside him,  a long,  barbed spear  roped to  floats in  one hand. Alei,
Milot's brother, was at the controls of the lifter.

Neither soldier wore his uniform, only a singlet and ragged shorts.

There were twelve other  fishing craft out, lights  gleaming, reflecting
in  flashing lines  across the  water. Behind  them were  the lights  of
Issus.

'Movement,' Ton warned. 'Move the lantern around some more, like  you're
a worried bird with a flashlight up its butt.'

'Why?' Njangu said. 'I'm real happy with him staying down there.'

'Don't you want dinner?'

'Sure,' Yoshitaro said. 'Anice, yummy piece offruit'll suit me just-'

He jumped as  a slender silver  arrow, teeth gleaming,  came out of  the
water at him.

'Shit!' Njangu  shouted, as  Milot hurled  the spear  into the monster's
mouth.  He  staggered  back,  flailing  for  the  railing,  and  toppled
overboard.  As  he  hit  the water,  something  landed  on  top of  him,
something cold, smooth,  and deadly. He  kicked wildly, and  the barraco
hit him with his  tail, and was gone.  Njangu dived deep, kicking  hard,
then ran out of air and went for the surface. The lifter was about  five
meters away, and between  him and it the  barraco thrashed in its  death
agonies.

Milot and his  brother clung to  the lifter's safety  cage, roaring with
laughter.

'Would you two idiots get me out of this,' Njangu shouted. 'The son of a
bitch might have a big brother.'

'Sure, sure,' Alei called. 'Maybe there  is a big brother, and we  leave
you in there to bring him up, eh? You're the best bait we've ever had.'

'I'm going to kill someone,' Njangu promised, treading water, afraid  to
look into the dark depths below. 'And I'm not particular who.'


'Damn,' Garvin said, eyeing the long line of sleek lims. 'I didn't  know
there was this much money in the whole friggin' Cumbre system.'

'Best believe it,' Erik said. 'Mines  are pure gold, even if they  don't
mine gold.'

'Now  there's something  we didn't  talk about,'  Garvin said,  as  they
strolled  toward  the  mansion's  gates.  'If  we're  cut  off  from the
Confederation, who's gonna  buy the minerals?  Isn't all this  geetus on
thin ice?'

'Cumbre uses a lot  of what it digs  out,' Erik said. 'And  the Musth'll
buy anything  that comes  out of  the ground  to take  back to their own
worlds. They don't give  a rat's earlobe whether  it's dug by their  own
people or by the 'Raum. This is secure wealth, m'friend. We'll get by.'

'Evening, Mister Penwyth,' a uniformed security woman said. Erik nodded,
and they went up the broad steps.

'The Bampurs do have real  money,' Garvin agreed. 'No stinkin'  security
'bots here. And it's nice to be with somebody they know.'

'What, automation?' Erik pretended horror. 'When there's always a  lower
class flunky or a 'Raum to  be hired? If we elite bassids  started usin'
robots,  who'd steal  from us  and blackmail  our fool  asses when  they
caught us in bed with somebody we shouldn't be there with?'

'Careful,  Striker,'  Garvin  said. 'You're  startin'  to  sound like  a
revolutionary.'

They went through  the portico of  the Bampur estate.  Garvin thought he
was still in the open air, and  the columns on either side of him  stood
alone,  then  realized  they  supported  a  long,  curving  roof exactly
matching the sky above.

'Clever,  that,' Erik  said. 'In  day, it  looks just  like daytime,  at
night, well, you can see for yourself.'

'Why'd the Bampurs go to the trouble?'

'Guess they don't like  rain,' Erik guessed. 'Besides,  the Rentiers-the
very rich-aren't as you and I, remember?'

'Thought you were rich.'

'Not this rich.'

'So how are they different?' Garvin asked. 'Never had the opportunity to
be around rich-rich much.'

Erik leaned close, and whispered:  'They find really dumb ways  to spend
their credits.'

The columned walk curved down a  gentle slope to a lake, with  a mansion
in the middle, on an island.

A  covered  causeway led  across  the water.  A  man crawled  along  the
causeway toward them. 'I'm a fish,' he explained. 'Crawlin' up... hie...
stream t'spawn.'

'Did we maybe get here a little late?' Garvin asked.

'Nope. If we were late, good old Raenssler'd not even be movin'.'

'I see. Nice layout here,' Garvin said.

'When the Bampurs feel private,' Erik said, 'they roll up the carpet and
you've got to hail a boat to go a-calling.'

'Clever, I suppose.'

'I suppose. Ah-hah,' Erik said. 'I knew Jasith wouldn't steer us  wrong.
Listen. The band sounds  drunk, so the party  must be starting to  catch
fire.'

Garvin listened, nodded. 'Nobody could be that bad sober.'

They went  into the  mansion's central  room. It  was huge,  open on all
sides with a twenty-meter-high domed ceiling. There were big  now-raised
storm curtains to let down  in bad weather. Corridors spidered  off here
and there to other parts of the house.

The party was a swirl of people, some dancing, some drinking, some doing
both,  badly and  well. Here  a man  sat staring  at a  holo of   ballet
dancers, sobbing bitterly, there a man leaned against a bronze life-size
statue  of  an  Earth  mermaid, whispering  his  life's  story  into its
sympathetic ear.

Garvin tried to look cosmopolitan, but it was hard. Not only were  there
three  bars  around  the  room,  but  each  had  four  bartenders. Human
bartenders. Even more exotic were the human servitors, more than  twenty
of them in white coats. The Bampurs had a lot of money.

He wondered wistfully  if there was  any way he  could get his  hands on
some  of it,  then forgot  that, seeing  the dark-eyed  small woman  who
darted up  to Erik.  Jasith Mellusin  wore a  quite incredible  outfit-a
black form-fitting floor-length asymmetric gown made even more  immodest
by missing  side panels.  The dress  was held  in place  by large silver
five-centimeter clips from mid-thigh to under her arm. She clearly  wore
nothing underneath it.

'You didn't forget me!'

Eric kissed her.  'How could I?  And I'm right  on time, Jasith,  as you
told me to be. Have I missed anything?'

'Two or three fights... a couple of people went swimming... one proposal
of marriage... three engagements broken. Very, very slow so far.'

'What could we do to enliven  things?' Erik asked. 'By the way,  this is
my fellow defender of freedom. Jasith Mellusin, Garvin Jaansma.'

Jasith evaluated the tall blond. 'Are you with someone?'

'Just him,' Garvin said, indicating Erik, 'and he's no fun. He leads.'

'Erik,  I think  you just  enlivened my  evening,' Jasith  said in   her
throaty  near whisper.  She linked  her arm  through Garvin's.  'Do  you
dance?'

'Like an angel,' Garvin assured her.

'What's an angel?'

Garvin grinned sharkishly. 'You and I are going to get along very,  very
well.' He bowed to Erik. 'Thank  you for the introduction, m'lad, and  I
believe we'll circulate.'

He moved Jasith toward the center  of the floor, extended his arms  just
as the  two bands,  in exceptionally  ragged nonsyn-chronization,  broke
into a new number.

'Oh,' Jasith said in disappointment. 'This is that new dance... well,  I
guess it  wouldn't be  new to  you, 'cause  it came  out from  Centrum a
couple of years ago, so it's old joumoh by now. Anyway, I don't know the
steps.'

Garvin  thought  of telling  Jasith  the deep,  thorough  knowledge he'd
gained of the Confederation capital's recreational tastes in three weeks
in the recruit reception depot mainly spent cleaning 'freshers,  decided
there wasn't any point in  spoiling the woman's fondest beliefs.  He was
about to  ask if  he could  get her  a drink  when he  caught the tune's
rhythm line.

'Hell,' he said, 'this one is easy. I'll show you.' He drew her out onto
the dance floor. 'It's all  flash,' he explained. 'Keep about,  oh, five
or six centimeters between  us, hold your hand  up like this, I  put one
hand around your waist,  and it's step to  the side, to the  side, back,
back, to the side, to the side, and so forth. Every tenth measure or  so
I put pressure on your waist, and you spin using your hand as a pivot...
that's right. Then turn back... see, you've got it.'

Jasith,  pink tongue  clenched between  her teeth,  concentrated on  her
movements for  a time,  then looked  up at  Garvin. 'You're  a very good
dancer. Where'd you learn?'

Garvin smiled wryly,  remembering a handsome  man and a  gorgeous woman,
dressed  in  archaic  formality, turning  in  a  spotlighted ring,  with
hundreds of people cheering.

'In a circus,' he said.

Another memory  came-an old-fashioned  tarred tent,  roaring in  flames,
screams, howls of fire lifters and a small boy, sitting in ashes, crying
for the world that had just died around him. He pushed the thought away.

Jasith laughed.

'Sure. A circus. And you were the, what did they call it, master of  the
ring?'

'Ringmaster, actually. But that was a long time afterward.'

'Oh, come on,' she said. 'I'm not that foolish. You're not old enough to
have done that.'

'If you say so,' Garvin said. 'But I look a lot older with my hair  dyed
black, a phony pencil-line moustache, and a top hat.'

'Oh, stop!  You know  I'm not  going to  believe you.  So what's the new
dance on Centrum?'

'It's very interesting,' Garvin said. 'First, you tie your arms together
at the wrists,  both men and  women. Then you  loop your hands  over the
other person's neck.'

'That sounds romantic,' Jasith said.

'Oh, 'tis,  it truly  is,' Garvin  agreed. 'When  the music  starts, you
prance backward and  forward, four steps,  while shouting 'Ha!  Hoo!' at
the end of each sequence. Oh yeh. And everybody's naked.'

'You took it too far,' she said. 'I almost was believing you.'

'That's the story of my life,' Garvin agreed, as the music stopped for a
minute, then became a syrupy ballad. 'Here's another new style,'  Garvin
said, and took her in his arms, holding her close.

'It's nice,' she breathed into his ear.

'So are  you,' Garvin  said, feeling  a little  drunk without having had
anything at  all to  drink, her  sleekness warm  and giving against him.
'Your hair smells like a  soft tropical night, with the  wind whispering
through it.'

'Maybe you did work  for a circus,' Jasith  said. 'You sure can  use the
words.'

'Ah, milady, when you're  poor and in love  with someone far above  you,
words are your only help,' Garvin said.

'Only?'

'Well,' Garvin said, 'the only ones you can use on a dance floor.'

'I'm not going  to ask,' Jasith  said. 'Because if  I did, I'll  bet you
were going to say something dirty.'

'Not me,' Garvin protested, 'for I'm as pure as... as... as what?'

'Flower petals?' Jasith suggested.

'Flower petals,' Garvin agreed.  'And I'd like to  take you in my  arms,
put you down on a carpet of them, and then lie down at your side.'

'Careful,' Jasith warned. 'I think I know what comes next.'

'I put nine meters of tongue in your ear and drill for uranium?'  Garvin
said.

Jasith giggled. 'That's enough, silly.'

'That's only a beginning,'  Garvin said, and the  music came to a  halt.
'Now we both deserve a drink.'

They walked off  the dance floor.  Garvin stopped to  admire a fountain,
brass cups of various sizes  and shapes, each cascading water  down into
the  next with  a soft  tinkling sound  like half-heard  bells. A  dozen
people,  mostly men,  were gathered  around it,  listening to  a  darkly
handsome man a  few years older  than Garvin, who  sat on the  banquette
around the fountain.

'Of course there's a supreme being, Jermy.'

Jermy, a man very bald for his years, shook his head vigorously, a smile
on his lips.

'Prove it, Loy.'

'Quite easily,' the other man said. 'If there is no god, put him or  her
in upper case if you choose, then all would be chaos.'

'Not necessarily,' Jermy said. 'Natural order. Evolution and that.'

'Fiddle,' Loy  said. 'Nothing  happens accidentally,  or quote naturally
end quote.  Show me  an example  of natural  order... which  you needn't
bother trying, for there's none.'

'Better, since you're the one trying to make a point,' Jermy said.  'You
give me  an example  of your  god-dictated system  that shows things are
always as they ought to be.'

'Easily. Look about  you. We freely  concede the 'Raum  are a distinctly
lesser class and, I believe, race as well, correct?'

Garvin's skin crawled as he heard too many murmurs of agreement.

'Therefore, they must function in  a lesser capacity. Do you  think it's
chance  that our  servitors are  'Raum, fitting  quite comfortably  into
their mentality? You'd  hardly expect to  see one of  them on the  dance
floor or standing with us, would you? We are their superiors, of course,
so therefore they are content, with their god-ordered role as  servants,
whether it's working in the mines or'-Loy held his empty glass out to  a
nearby white-clad man-'getting me another drink.'

The  man, old  enough to  be Loy's  father, bowed  and took  the  glass,
expression blank.  As he  turned away,  his eyes  met Garvin's,  and the
soldier noted the hard glitter.

'Yet another  example-' The  handsome young  man yelped  in surprise  as
water  cascaded  down  his  back. He  whirled,  to  see  Garvin, looking
ostentatiously aghast, moving one of  the brass cups, so the  water fell
into it once more.

'My  apologies,'  Garvin  said. 'My  hand  must've  conflicted with  the
natural order.'

The man came  to his feet,  flushing in anger.  Garvin smiled, a  tight,
unpleasant smile. His hands curled,  lifted, his left foot slid  out and
he centered himself, then semi-crouched.

Loy hesitated.

Jasith hissed, 'Men!' and flounced away.

Garvin waited, but Loy didn't move. Garvin ducked his head in dismissal,
and went after Jasith.

He found her outside  the great room, at  the edge of the  lake, staring
out at the night. 'Hey.'

She didn't move.

'Hey, beautiful,' he tried again.

She spun.  'Why do  you men  have to  do things  like that? You and your
damned testosterone!'

'The crap  that idiot  was spouting  needed interruption,'  Garvin said.
'And I've learned  you can never  argue with a  bigot. Nothing testerone
about that.'

'What bigot? Loy Kuoro's  well educated and a  good friend of mine!  His
father's publisher  of Matin,  and he'll  take over  the holo  in a  few
years. He's very clever.'

'Okay,' Garvin said equably. 'He's a very clever asshole. But do I  have
to like him to be permitted to think you 're wonderful?'

Jasith hesitated, then shook her head. 'No. But... but you can't  behave
that way.'

'What do I know?' Garvin said.  'I'm just a simple soldier, with  simple
desires.'

Jasith looked skeptical.

'Sometimes  they  overwhelm  me,'  he  said.  'For  instance,  with  the
moonlight behind you, I've got an overwhelming desire to kiss you.'

'You can't-' Her protest was muffled by his lips. The kiss lasted  quite
a long time. Eventually she drew back. 'Oh dear,' she said. ''I've never
been kissed like that that I remember.'

'You sure?' Garvin asked.

'No. Maybe you should do it again,' she said. He did.

'My,' she said softly, melting closer. Garvin slid his hand through  the
gap in her dress, cupped, stroked her hips, then her naked buttocks.  He
slid  a  finger between  them,  caressed her.  She  murmured wordlessly,
breath coming more quickly as her tongue curled around Garvin's.

'Should  we  think about  finding  a nice,  soft  pile of  flowers?'  he
whispered.

'We can't,' she said sadly.

'Why not?'

'The Bampurs put alarms everywhere, and I don't want a scandal if people
came running and found us... well, found us.'

''Kay, that's out,' Garvin said. 'How'd you come here?'

'I brought my lifter.'

'Well?'

'It's a little two-seater. We'd never be able to... to be comfortable.'

'So let's go somewhere. I just happen to have a nice, luxurious  hotel,'
Garvin whispered. 'With a big soft bed, and nobody pays any attention to
people's comings and goings.'

'Comings?' she whispered.

'Anywhere you want to,' he  promised, and they kissed again.  He brought
his hand up, fondled her breasts, felt her rigid nipples.

'Hey,' a voice came. 'You. Shithead!'

Jasith squeaked in surprise,  jumped back. Garvin turned,  very quickly.
Loy Kuoro stood, face angry, fists balled. Jaansma forced his mind  away
from Jasith.

'That was a shitty thing you did to me,' Kouro said.

'Those were some shitty things you were saying,' Garvin said reasonably.
'Especially in front of some people.'

'People? 'Raum people?' Kouro sneered.

'Publishers? People?' Garvin echoed in  an equally nasty voice. 'I  hear
the only way you can breed is with your own sisters? Any truth to that?'

Jasith gasped, and  Kouro turned white.  Garvin had a  moment to realize
he'd touched  on something  explosive, and  the man  tried to  kick him.
Garvin stepped back, and the kick barely touched Garvin's jacket.

'Don't do that,' he said in a calm voice. Kouro stumbled, recovered, and
Garvin realized the man was somewhat drunker than he appeared. He swung,
and Garvin grabbed his hand, pulled, and Kouro stumbled forward, falling
to his hands and knees.

'Go back  inside and  get yourself  a drink,'  Garvin suggested. 'You're
pushing the framework.'

Kouro  came to  his knees,  and lurched  forward, head  down. He  butted
Garvin in the chest. Garvin almost fell, recovered.

'That's enough,' he said, still in  the same mild tone, and slammed  two
straight forefist strikes into Kouro, the first into his eye, the second
into his midsection. Kouro whuffed, puked, staggered back, and  teetered
on the edge of the lake. Garvin reached out, pushed, and the man shouted
surprise, windmilled his arms, and fell backwards into the lake, landing
with a thoroughly satisfying splash.

Garvin Jaansma didn't bother  seeing whether Kouro surfaced,  saw Jasith
was gone. Garvin  swore, went after  her, through the  great room, along
the causeway, and through the estate's entrance. He went down the  steps
in time to see a small, bright red lifter streak down the driveway.

'I should've killed him,' Garvin said, and went back, looking for Erik.

He  couldn't  find  him  anywhere.  He  looked  at  the  crowd  of utter
strangers. 'No friends,  no taxis. I  think,' he said  to himself, 'it's
gonna be a long walk home.'


'Curious,' Jo Poynton mused. 'Most curious.'

The voice came again: 'Your instructions?'

Poynton keyed her mike: 'Stand by.'

She returned  to her  analysis: A  group of  soldiers stops  one of  our
children from being beaten. Odd. They then somehow have enough money for
rooms in one of Leggett's most expensive hotels and outfit themselves in
luxury. Even odder. Three of them then elude one of my most  experienced
agents and disappear. The other two attend a very exclusive party in the
Heights,  at  the home  of  one of  the  most anti-'Raum  swine.  One is
identified by an agent  of ours, working as  a waiter, as Erik  Penwyth,
whose family,  while not  the worst  of the  giptel, isn't considered an
especially fervent supporter  of our cause.  He mysteriously joined  the
Confederation oppressors a short time ago, for no known reason. Now  his
companion, name unknown, starts a fight over a minor insult made by  the
giptel  Kouro about  the 'Raum.  He then  leaves and  is walking  toward
Leggett.  All  this  is  very  unusual,  and  we  do  not  need  unusual
occurrences this close to Dawning Fury.

'I don't understand,'  she said softly,  looking around her  room in the
depths of the  Eckmuhl. Bare except  for three transceivers,  it gave no
answers. She  thought of  trying to  reach Com-stock  Brien or,  perhaps
better for his fresh thinking, Jord'n Brooks. But there was no time, and
certainly she might have a better understanding of the problem than they
would, far distant in the hills.

She opened her mike. 'Is there traffic in your area?'

'Almost none.'

'Do you  and Lompa  think you  could take  him alive?  There must  be no
misunderstanding-alive or do not make the attempt.'

'Wait.' Silence, then: 'Affirm. Lompa has a pacifier.'

'Take him then,  before he leaves  the Heights,' Poynton  ordered. 'Move
him to a secluded  area, and I'll have  a pickup craft ready  to home on
your signal.'

'Understood,' the voice said. 'Stand b>.'

Poynton picked  up another  com. 'This  is Watch  Control,' she ordered.
'Wake the alert team for action.'


'I forgive this barraco,' Njangu said  in a noble tone, trying to  sound
like Garvin Jaansma being pompous, 'for trying to eat me, for I find the
mother pretty goddamned delicious.' He  realized he was a little  drunk,
just loopy enough  for almost any  silliness to sound  like an excellent
idea. Njangu took another piece of grilled barraco from the  fire-warmed
stone, put it on a disk of flat, unleavened bread. He poured a dipper of
fiery green sauce over it, folded the top over, and took a huge bite.

'How many of those are you  planning to eat?' Angie asked him,  speaking
with the careful pronunciation of the quite drunk.

'What do you care? I won't let it spoil my girlish figure,' Njangu said.

'I don't want you  to founder and not  be able to... take  care of other
things.'

'The  day  that  happens,'  Njangu promised,  'is  the  day  the heavens
crumble.'

'Yeesh,' Angie said. 'Ego!'

There were five of them lying  on mats around the small fire-Ton  Milot;
his girlfriend, Lupul;  Njangu; Angie, who  lay curled with  her head on
Njangu's ankles; and a slender, large-breasted girl about sixteen  named
Deira,  with tied-back  dark red  hair, a  slow smile,  and lips  Njangu
didn't want  to think  about kissing.  She wore  only a  wrap, tucked in
above her breasts,  and insisted on  showing far too  much of her  upper
thigh to Yoshitaro.

'Men're all like that, aren't they?' Lupul said.

''Cept for me,' Ton Milot said. 'I'm perfect.' He belched loudly. 'Wanna
see?'

'It is about that time,' Lupul said, getting up. She tottered a  little.
'Wups. Earthquake season, I guess.'

Ton Milot clambered to his feet and stood, grinning foolishly. He looked
down the beach, where two or three dozen fires guttered down. There were
shadows around  them, some  sitting, talking;  others dancing  slowly to
their  own  music; others  on  the sand,  moving,  twined; still  others
motionless, paired or alone. 'Looks like things're trickling down to the
last hard-cases,' he  said. 'Guess I'll  see you sometime  after the sun
comes up.'

'Would you come on,' Lupul said.  'You see these guys every damned  day,
not me.'

'Coming, dear.' He followed her into darkness.

'So now it's just us,' Njangu said. He bent over, and kissed Angie.

'Well,' she said. 'Not quite.  There's Deira. She's locked, loaded,  and
ready.'

The girl giggled.

'Ready for what?' Njangu asked.

'Show him,' Angie said.

Deira stood, unfastened  the tie, shook  her head and  let her red  hair
cascade down  almost to  her waist.  She walked  slowly around  the fire
until she bestrode Njangu, pulled the  tie on her wrapper, let it  drop.
Her body was shaved clean.

'Don't you like these colorful local practices?' Angie asked.

'Uhhh,' Njangu managed.

'She came over,'  Angie said calmly,  'while you were  fishing, and told
Lupul she thought you  were very handsome, and  wanted to know what  our
customs were, since she guessed I  was already with you. She told  Lupul
that she thought  I was handsome,  too, and wondered  what I thought  of
her. I said I  thought she was pretty,  and that I wouldn't  mind if she
wanted to kiss me. So we did. She's a very good kisser. And she  does...
other things real nice, too. We  borrowed one of the huts while  we were
waiting for you.'

Njangu realized his mouth was dry.

'Well,' Angie said reasonably, 'she's awfully pretty, isn't she?'

'Uhh... yes.'

'Can I kiss him?' Deira asked.

'Sure,' Angie said, and laughed.

Deira knelt, and  pushed Njangu gently  down onto his  back. She lowered
her  body onto  his, her  mouth opening.  Njangu felt  her breasts  hard
against his bare chest. An eon or so later, Deira lifted her head. 'I do
like him,' she said dreamily.

'So do I,' Angie said.

'Now I want to kiss you some more,' Deira said.

'That could happen.' Angie said. She unbuttoned her uniform blouse, took
it off. Then she took off her shorts and briefs.

Njangu'd turned on his side, was watching. 'You don't act like this is a
total shock,' Angie said.

Njangu smiled slightly,  inclined his head,  said nothing. The  girls in
his clique had done anything and everything they thought might shock the
cits, with each other or the boys.

'You're wearing too much,' she  said, and Njangu obediently slid  out of
his shorts.

Angie tube-rolled her shorts and tunic, put them down on the mat about a
meter away from her.

'Come here,  Deira,' she  whispered. 'Next  to me.  Put your  hips on my
pants.'

The girl  melted into  Angle's arms.  After a  bit, Angie  pushed on her
head,  and  Deira  kissed  down Angie's  neck,  across  her  breasts and
stomach. Angie lifted, parted her legs, gasped as Deira's fingers  found
her.

'Oh yes, oh good,' she sighed. 'Njangu, come here. I want you to bite me
on my  tits, my  stomach. Then  do it  to Deira  while she  loves me.  I
promised her she could be first.'


Garvin guessed he was no more  than fifteen minutes from the hotel,  and
making good time on the curving downhill road. He was singing quietly:

Oh don't you remember

Dumb Garvin from Altair

Who'd screw up a sure thing

No matter where.

His mouth was a terror

It never would mind

He 'd say something stupid

And then get kicked blind.

He went to a soiree

Just lookin for fun

The women were friendly,

And hot as a gun.

The prettiest was Jasith-

He broke off, looking for a  rhyme for Jasith, failed to find  one. 'She
sure was lovely,' he mourned. 'Nice and friendly and warm and-'

He heard  the scrape,  jumped sideways.  The first  man's sap came down,
missed, and  he tried  to recover,  staggering on  a few  footsteps. The
second man had some kind of gun. He pointed it at Garvin, who ducked  as
the weapon hissed and something spat past, very close.

At the side of the road was a tall, straight-limbed bush.

Garvin tore  off a  branch, held  it across  his chest  like a  fighting
stave.

'Oh you poor bastards,' he said. 'You poor sorry bastards. Did you  ever
pick somebody in the wrong goddamned mood.'

The second man aimed his gun. Garvin darted to the side, raked the  butt
end of the branch across the  sapman's face, who cried out and  stumbled
back. Without  pausing, he  snapped the  branch's other  end across  the
gunman's wrist, and the gun  spun away, into the street.  Garvin brought
his knee up, smashed the branch  across it. Now he held two  clubs about
10cm in diameter and 50cm long.

'Let's play,' he said. The second man reached in a pocket for something.
Garvin  clubbed his  forearm, then  smashed the  other club  across  the
bridge of  the man's  nose. The  man screamed,  had both  hands over his
face. Garvin drove the  club like a sword  into his gut, kicked  the man
hard in the side of the head as he went down.

'Now for your young ass,' he  said grimly. The first man was  holding up
his hand, whining,  pleading. Garvin smashed  him on the  elbow with the
club in his left hand. The man howled, clutched his wrist with his other
hand. Jaansma snapped the club in  his right into the man's face,  heard
teeth crack. He kicked the man in the stomach like he was driving a ball
into  the  score zone,  and  the man  whip-snapped,  fell backward,  lay
motionless. Garvin stood over the two for a short time, breathing  hard,
waiting for movement. There wasn't any.

'Stupid goniffs,' he said. 'Rob a soldier, who's never got any goddamned
money anyway.'

He looked up  and down the  road, saw no  vehicles. He spotted  the gun,
picked it up, and examined it. Some kind of knockout weapon, he thought.
Nice and new-looking. Thieves don't normally carry trick shit like  this
I wouldn 't think.

He picked up one man by  the hair, ignored his ruined face,  sniffed his
breath. No alcohol. The same was true of the other. That's also a little
unique.

He  went  through their  pockets,  found two  ID  cards, pocketed  them,
continued  searching.  Both  had  some  money  and,  interestingly,  two
identical expensive-looking coms fitted with scramblers.

'Hmm. Wish I were some kinda  detective, so this shit'd make sense,'  he
muttered.

He considered calling the  police, found himself grinning.  Njangu would
beat my butt  for even thinking  that. Besides, they'd  keep him up  the
rest  of the  night with  stupid questions  he had  no answers  for.  He
pocketed the coms, the money, and the ID cards, and trotted away, toward
Leggett.


Half an hour  later, he saw  the lights of  the Shelbume ahead.  A woman
came out of the shadows.

'Morning, sister,' he greeted. 'Up late, aren't you?'

'Looking for a good time, I am,' she said. 'You interested? Half  price,
and you can stay 'til you wake up?'

'No thanks.'

'You one of those who like boys?' the whore asked, not insultingly.

'Nope,'  Garvin  Jaansma  said, thinking  of  Jasith  Mellusin, and  her
melting lips. 'Just stupid.'



CHAPTER 17

''Kay, troops,'  Alt Hedley  told the  company. 'Break  ranks and gather
around this tippy-top-secret map and hear the good skinny.' The men  and
women of Intelligence and Reconnaissance Company obeyed. 'First,' Hedley
said, 'let's welcome the new fools. Monique's shattered 'em so much they
actually want to flipping join us. Tsk.'

Njangu caught Penwyth's  eye, grinned. They'd  managed to get  into Petr
Kipchak's Gamma Team, First Troop. Ton Milot was in Alpha of the  First,
Hank Faull  went to  Vie Team,  Second Troop,  andAngie was  in EtaTeam,
Second. Njangu  was not  unhappy Rada  wasn't in  his team.  The rest of
their  graduation  leave had  been  mostly spent  in  Issus with  Deira.
Njangu'd taken Ton Milot aside, and told him what'd happened, and  asked
if he was about to get in trouble with anybody in the village.

Milot laughed. 'Not here,  my friend. We figure  what people do is  what
they do. Everybody  knows Deira's a  wild one.' He  looked wistful. 'She
and I got  friendly a couple  of times, back  before I joined  up, and I
asked Lupul if she'd mind if Deira stayed with us. Lupul said she'd  cut
off my whacker, because if that happened, I'd never have any energy  for
fishing. So don't worry and have fun.'

The three had...  or so Njangu  thought. He was  starting to wonder  if,
indeed,  all great  things happen  in a  city. But  at the  end of   the
leave,Angie confronted  him. 'Look,'  she said.  'When we  get back... I
sleep alone. There's nothing between us.'

'I know that,' Njangu said. 'Screwing and work don't mix.'

'Good,' Angie said. She acted like she was angry. 'And don't be  talking
about anything else.'

'Like what?'

'Like what happened with Deira.'

'But  Ton Milot  knows...' Njangu  said, puzzled,  then stopped,  seeing
Angle's lips compress. '

'Kay. I'm not much into giving away family secrets.'

'Best not,' she said, and started packing. And that appeared to be that.
Njangu tried to forget about it.

''Kay,' Hedley  said. 'War  games in  four days,  right? Everything's  a
flipping secret, right?' Somebody  snickered. 'Don't step on  my lines,'
Hedley warned. 'You could end up humping a sackful of rocks up and  down
the company area.

'Anyway, first thing is that we're going to be the aggressors, as usual.
Plus they've detailed  off First and  Second Company, Third  Regiment to
play bad  guys with  us. We'll  also get  a couple  ofZhukovs and half a
dozen Griersons. They're looking for volunteer armor crews right now.

'Needless to say,  what I'm gonna  give you now  is flipping classified,
and  not  to be  talked  about outside  the  company, 'cause  we're  not
supposed to know any of this.'

He pulled the cover off the map. Njangu recognized it as the mountainous
center of Dharma Island, with the outskirts  of Leggett at the far  left
hand side. There were arrows drawn  here and there. A woman wearing  the
slashes of a tweg groaned.

'You recognize it, eh?' Hedley asked, amused.

'Yessir,' the woman said. 'Same turf as... three years ago, isn't it?'

'Sure is,'  Hedley said,  sounding delighted.  'Same flipping  scenario,
too.'

He touched the first arrow. 'The general scheme is that the Strike Force
is going to make an in-atmosphere landing here, about thirty  kilometers
east of Leggett, against an entrenched enemy-us. They'll drive us north,
flipping killers  that they  are, to  here, right  at the  foot of Mount
Najim, where we'll regroup.

'Strike  Force  Swift  Lance  will then  make  a  Final  assault on  our
positions, and we, instead of retreating farther east into the Highlands
like sensible flipping folks, will  let ourselves be driven up  to about
here, close to the crest of Najim.

'There we  make a  suicidal last  stand, and  get wiped out and-slash-or
captured, then the Task Force, meaning Caud Williams and the staff, will
host a luncheon  for PlanGov and  the Rentiers, so  all the fat  cats'll
have a chance to praise our lethal beauty.'

Monique Lir held up a hand.

'Go, Monique.'

'No offense, boss, but wouldn't it make more sense for the Strike  Force
to be the defenders against, say, attackers from offplanet? Like, maybe,
Musth? Or against those pirates who ripped off the gear we were supposed
to be getting.'

'You don't understand the  big picture,' Hedley said  gently. 'Attacking
is a lot more romantic than sitting in a hole in the ground,'

'Shit,' Lir said.

Hedley shrugged. 'We weren't consulted  any more'n usual. The way  it'll
work is the two  companies of line animals'll  take care of the  digging
and follow the scenario the staff wrote up. I&R's going to play the part
of  rotten behind-the-lines  raiders, and  stir about  gently trying  to
create a commotion. One thing that'll help us a bit... the met folks are
predicting the flipping rainy season'll dump on in early this year. Like
tomorrow or the next day, so we'll have some nice nasty weather to  hide
in.'

There was laughter, and Njangu saw evil, anticipatory expressions.

'Study up on the map,' Hedley said, 'and start thinking of ways to screw
with our noble brothers. The rules won't let us baddies win, of  course.
But I'd like for the white hats to know they've been meddled with.

'One other thing, and I'll personally flipping crucify anybody who  ever
says anything about it. It's a  real jungle out there, and there's  some
folks who  don't like  soldier girls  at all.  Each man  will carry  one
magazine of real rounds in his backpack, just in case. If by any  chance
those real poppers  get confused with  the blanks you'll  be issued, all
the gods had better have mercy on  your ass, for I'll have none. And  if
anybody gets hit, I'll have you prosecuted for murder, and deny  anybody
in I&R ever saw a real round except on the range. That's all.  Non-coms,
take charge of your sections... dismissed.'

Hedley started toward the orderly room.

'Sir?' Kipchak called.

'What do you need, Petr?'

'A few minutes alone,' Kipchak said. 'Striker Yoshitaro's got  something
you might be interested in.'

'In with the both of you.'

'Njangu,' Petr said. 'Go get the stuff.'


The 'stuff' was the two coms, sap, knockout gun, and the ID cards Garvin
had taken from  his attackers. Garvin  had told Njangu  what'd happened,
asked for suggestions. Should he  call the police? Njangu, as  expected,
had sneered. Should he report it to his CO? Njangu asked Jaansma what he
thought of the woman. Garvin hadn't much contact with Cent Haughton, but
if the company  first shirt, Malagash,  was any indication,  he wouldn't
expect much. Njangu said  he could turn it  over to his CO,  Hedley, who
seemed  to have  intelligence both  upper and  lower case  and see  what
happened.

''Kay,' Garvin said. 'But try to keep me out of it.'

'Why're  you so  touchy? You  were just  a handsome  lad, attending   an
Utterly party in the Heights, and got skulked on.'

'Caud Williams said he didn't want to see my loverly face ever ever ever
again,' Garvin said. 'I'm following orders.'

'You worry too much,' Njangu said.'

'Kay. I'll prob'ly have to tell Hedley who the poor sinned-against  fool
was, but I'll ask him to keep it QT.'

Hedley examined one of  the coms. 'Nice, new...  and it's a mate  to the
other one,' he said. 'Why would a common thief be carrying one of these,
especially fitted  with a  scrambler? He'd  dump it  to a  fence for his
night's buzz. Plus a knockout-type shooter,' he went on, picking up  the
gun. 'Your  friend's friends  were nonviolent...  or else  they wanted a
live body.'

'That's what I was wondering, sir,' Yoshitaro said.

'These two ID cards,' Hedley said. 'They're 'Raum.'

'How do you know, sir?' Kipchak asked.

'The Rentiers pushed  a measure through  their Council and  then PlanGov
about  seven years  ago that  all 'Raum  have a  Y prefix  on their   ID
numbers. Any notion that those gentle souls might be a leetle bigoted is
a definite slander, ho-ho,' Hedley explained. 'But why would the  'Raum,
even  the baddies  in the  boonies, want  some rear-rank  striker for  a
prisoner? I think you'd better tell me about your friend.'

Njangu obeyed.

'Why didn't he  call the cops?  Most soldiers who  get mugged holler  in
that general direction,' Hedley asked.

'He sort of  thinks like I  do, sir,' Njangu  answered honestly. 'Police
haven't been our friends for a whole lot of our lives.'

'Mmmh,' Hedley mused.  'And he wants  to stay clean  now. 'Kay, I'll  do
what I  flipping can.  I'm going  to take  this little  story up to some
people  I  trust  in II  Section,  and  also some  folks  in  Policy and
Analysis. That's the Planetary  Police Intelligence, and they're  almost
half as good as they think they are. Ought to be. since they've had  two
hundred flipping years to  get organized. You two  can go back to  work.
Thanks for reporting this-it won't get pigeonholed, whatever the  blazes
a goddamned pigeon is.'

'A request,  sir,' Njangu  said. 'I'd  like to  tell my  friend what you
said. And you said something about needing volunteers with ACVs.'

'Your friend's on a Grierson?'

'He is. Third Platoon, A Company, Second Infantry. A gunner, sir.'

The lanky alt hesitated.

'His TC's a big bastard named Ben Dill,' Petr said.

'I know him... know of him anyway,' Hedley said. 'Bad attitude.  Violent
sort.  About the  size of  a Zhukov.  If he  wasn't prejudiced   against
walking, he'd make a great I&R  noncom. Good. Go get Dill's Pickles  for
us. We can always use another asshole.'


Striker Garvin Jaansma bounced  into A Company's orderly  room, stripped
his fatigue cap off, and stood attention, dripping a bit of transmission
oil on the  freshly waxed floor.  There was no  one in the  orderly room
except  the company  clerk, a  snotty little^n/named  Calmahoy. 'The  CO
wants to see you,' he said.

'That's what Tweg Ric told me,' Garvin said.

'She's in her office. Knock first.'

Garvin  marched across  the room,  counting his  sins, and  rapped in  a
businesslike manner.

'Come in.'

It wasn't true  that Cent Dian  Haughton ironed military  creases in her
brassiere every night, but it should've been. She was all army, from her
closely cropped hair to her  perfect posture to her immaculate  uniform.
Nobody knew how good or bad an officer she was, for in the three  months
she'd been in charge of A  Company she ran things through her  efficient
bully of a first tweg, Malagash. Garvin threw her his best salute, stood
at  rigid attention,  suddenly aware  of the  microcalipers and  circuit
reader sticking out of his coverall pocket.

'At  ease,' Haughton  said. 'You  know what  the company  policy is  for
taking personal coms during work hours?'

'Yes'm,' Garvin said. 'You don't.'

'And your friends aren't supposed to call, either.'

'No ma'am,' he agreed.

She handed him two pink message slips. 'Read them.'

Garvin wondered who might've... and then his eyebrows crawled toward the
ceiling. The first was from a 'Jaseeth Mellusin,' the second from a  Loy
Kouro.

'Your business is  your business,' Haughton  said. 'But if  I might, I'd
like to ask a couple of questions.'

'Yes ma'am.'

'Is this Mellusin any relation to the mining family?'

'Yes ma'am.'

'Hmmph. And therefore this Loy Kouro's connected to the holo Afariw?'

'He is.'

'Friends of yours?'

'One... I hope is,' Garvin said. 'I think the other's more of an enemy.'

'For  a  brand-new striker,'  Haughton  said, 'you  certainly  travel in
interesting circles.'

'Do you  think so,  ma'am?' Garvin's  voice was  neutral, his expression
bland.  Haughton  waited  until she  realized  Jaansma  wasn't going  to
elaborate. She grunted.

'Very well.  You have  my permission  to return  the calls  now. Use the
executive officer's  office. The  blue com  goes directly  off camp,  so
you'll have privacy.'

'Thank you, ma'am.'

Haughton  looked him  up and  down. 'I'll  be very  interested in   your
progress. Striker. Dismissed.'

* * *

'This is Jasith,' the throaty whisper came.

'This is Garvin Jaansma. I'm the-'

'Soldier,' she interrupted.  'I hadn't had  hardly anything to  sniff or
drink, so I remember everything.'

'I guess I owe you an apology,' Garvin started.

'No,' Jasith said. 'I  called to tell you  I was sorry. I'd  had a fight
with Daddy before I came, about how  I was lazy and not willing to  work
and not worthy of being a Mellusin,  and I was just in a perfectly  foul
mood, and trying to pretend I wasn't.

'So when you and  Loy started fighting, I'm  afraid it struck me  wrong,
and I just made an ass of myself. I'm sorry, Garvin.'

'No,' Garvin  said. 'I'm  sorry. I  should've learned  to control my big
mouth and my temper by now.'

'And things were going... just so nicely,' Jasith whispered. 'I remember
your kisses.'

'I remember some other things.'

'Like a big bed of flower petals?'

Garvin found himself breathing a little hard. 'Something like that.'

'If  you  let  me...  if  you want...  maybe  there'll  be  a  next time
sometime.'

'I'd like that,' Garvin said.

'I know you've got  those stupid war games  in four days,' Jasith  said.
'Daddy and everybody else are going  to go watch their end, up  on Mount
Naj im. After they get finished, will they give you a leave?'

'Probably.'

'You have my number,'  she said. 'I'll keep  my com with me  everywhere.
Please call me.'

'I promise.'

He heard a smack-a kiss?-and the line went dead.

'I shall be  dipped,' Garvin said  in some astonishment,  and dialed the
second number.

'Matin publisher's  office,' a  female voice  cooed. 'How  may I  assist
you?'

'This is Striker  Garvin Jaansma, A  Company, Second Infantry  Regiment,
Strike Force Swift Lance, returning Loy Kouro's com.'

'Please stand by.'

A moment later: 'This is Loy Kouro. I called to apologize for starting a
fight with you at Bampur's party the other night.'

I'll be dipped and dunked,  Garvin thought. 'That's all right,'  he said
amiably. 'It wasn't much of a fight.'

The  voice  became a  trifle  frosty. 'I  hope  I didn't  injure  you or
anything.'

'Nope,' Garvin said. 'You missed clean, then decided to go swimming.'

'Perhaps the  next time  we meet,'  Kouro said  after a  moment, 'you'll
allow me to buy you a drink.'

''Fraid not,' Garvin said cheerily. 'I only drink with my equals.'

There was a hiss  of anger, then the  line went dead. Garvin  turned the
com off,  went out.  Cent Haughton  was standing  over Calmahoy's  desk,
pretending to read a sheaf of orders.

'Thank you, ma'am,' Garvin said. 'I appreciate the favor.'

Haughton looked at him  closely. Jaansma had spoken  as if she were  his
equal. She  wondered for  an instant  if perhaps  he was,  then just who
Jaansma really was. He went to the door, put his cap on, and left.

Haughton stared after him, then  saw something: 'Calmahoy, look at  that
oil! This is an orderly room, not a hogwallow! Get a mop and clean  that
up!'


'So my fame travels,' Ben Dill said. 'An asshole, hmm?'

'That's  what  Alt  Hedley  said to  tell  you,'  Njangu  said, glancing
surreptitiously around  for something  large and  heavy to  lay Dill out
with when he exploded. The only thing suitable was the Grierson the  dec
was standing next to. Yoshitaro decided on flight. Instead, the huge man
bellowed laughter.

'Asshole Ben, eh? 'Kay,  that's what it is.'  He beat on the  Grierson's
armor with a  fist. 'Unass the  sardine can, folks.  We're gonna have  a
small discussion about volunteering before we go and do something stupid
like volunteering.'


'A question,' Garvin  asked Dill, as  they carefully reassembled  one of
the Grierson's chainguns.

'Ask and ye shall receive,' Ben said.

'I&R is the ground-pounding scouts,  right? And Mobile Scout Troop  does
the same thing, but with vehicles.'

'Veddy basic.'

'Howcum I&R plays bad guy, and MST sticks with the main force?  Wouldn't
it be  more like  what'd actually  happen for  anybody we'd fight, other
than bandits, to have a real air capability?'

'Excellent question,' Dill said. 'First, the guy who plays aggressor  in
any  war game  shouldn't be  very good,  because if  he does   something
outrageous  like beat  the butt  of his  CO, guess  what'll happen  come
promotion time? Alt Hedley of I&R doesn't give a shit about making  rank
by  kissing ass,  so he  thinks it's  a hoot  to be  the bad  guy.  Cent
Liskeard, of  Mobile, does...  and you  notice he  outranks Hedley, even
though both job slots call for a cent.

'You also notice nobody talks about real fighting, like going after  the
'Raum in the hills, because nobody  outside Hedley and some other  blood
drinkers want to dirty their hands shooting at folks who might be women,
children, and general back-stabbers who look like everybody else.

'Smart folks... that is, those  who're careerists on the brown  highway,
don't think  playing aggressor  is a  treat either.  That's why  the two
companies that're helping I&R  were ordered, not volunteered.  You don't
think their canny COs went and stuck their paw in the garbage grinder of
their own accord, now  do you? See why  you never want to  be an ossifer
an' gruntleman, young Garvin?'



CHAPTER 18

Twenty men and women were lined up in the clearing. Jord'n Brooks  stood
in front of them, and, to one side was Jo Poynton and Comstock Brien. 'I
greet you, brothers and sisters,'  he said, 'warriors all, and  am proud
of you for  volunteering for this  vital mission the  Planning Group has
honored me to lead. One day, when we 'Raum seize D-Cumbre and reach  for
the system and then the stars, people will look back and say, 'Here  was
when it began,'

'Here were the heroes who began the freeing of our race, our people, our
culture.'

His voice rose.

'This is the beginning of the end for our enemies, the Rentiers, and for
all those in the Universe who doubt our truth.

'Take  up the  packs and  weapons you  see in  front of  you. There  are
instructions inside. Read them, memorize  them, and then we shall  begin
rehearsing for action. Our Task will  be a shining torch in the  eyes of
men and women everywhere, a torch for freedom and liberty.'

The  twenty  cheered.  Brooks  stood  very  straight,  eyes half-closed,
listening.



CHAPTER 19

Chance Island rumbled as Swift Lance lifted away from its base, climbing
out toward the mouth  of the bay. Five  kilometers above the ocean,  the
Force  moved into  a massive  swirling formation,  hundreds of  Zhukovs,
Gnersons, Cookes, almost seven  thousand men. There were  errors-a dozen
near collisions, half a dozen  real ones. But casualties were  light and
most of the shattered  ACVs were able to  land under their own  power or
emergency  antigrav.  A  handful  of  crewmen  took  to  their  personal
droppers.  Three  of these  malfunctioned,  and two  other  troops who'd
managed to avoid mandatory swimming lessons drowned in the bay. Then the
Force  went back  to sea  level and  accelerated to  a  safety-conscious
200km/h for the  assault. Simulated AA  missiles took out  thirty-two of
the  ACVs  as the  Force  approached land,  then  the equally  simulated
missiles  of  the  Zhukovs  and  air-support  Griersons  suppressed  the
missiles, and Strike Force Swift Lance closed on the Landing Zone,  just
as the monsoon rains rolled across Dharma Island.

The  assault  was  considered  very  successful  by  Caud  Williams, who
disregarded his maneuver losses, saying they were meaningless, and  only
due to the low speed dictated by circumstances. He also paid no mind  to
the nine percent of his assault craft who'd either aborted at Camp Mahan
or at  lift; as  well as  the nearly  one thousand  men and women of the
Force with 'other duties' that kept them out of the games.


The  Aggressors,  unimaginatively named  Blue  Force, had  been  out for
twenty-four  hours  already.  The   two  companies  of  Third   Regiment
anticipated the worst, and had been  ready to spend the day digging  and
blasting out fighting  positions. But the  trenches and bunkers  of four
years earlier were still in decent shape, and all that was necessary was
a little sandbagging here and there and rousting out the wildlife that'd
colonized the sites.

'Just like camping  when I was  a kid,' one  soldier said. 'Mebbe,'  one
said, hefting her weapon. 'But at least back then I had rubber-band guns
to fight back with. A  real weapon! A woman's  weapon! Not this  poppity
poppity-poppity goddamned Mark 21!'

'Shaddup and load yer blanks,' her teammate said.


The Strike  Force Shrike  battery hovered  along a  dirt road,  movement
hopefully concealed by tall  overhead trees. The battery  commander kept
checking his SatPos, which insisted on telling him there was a turn just
beyond his  present position  that'd let  him swing  north, find an open
meadow, and prepare  his missiles for  'firing' in support  of the Swift
Lance attack. The cent's SatBox  had been promising this turn  for about
two kilometers.

The road was mucky and getting worse as the rain drenched the Griersons,
and the trees were  close on either side  of the column. He  knew he was
close to the  Blue lines, but  without Zhukov support  dared not pop  up
above the trees and get a 'real-world' position by eyeball.

He grunted  relief as  they rounded  a bend  and saw  the promised fork.
Better yet, there was a grounded Cooke with Military Police stripes, and
a smartly uniformed dec standing next to it.

'Set it down,' he ordered, 'we  need a fix,' and his driver  obeyed. The
cent slid his  hatch open, and  the dec saluted.  'I think I'm  a little
misplaced,' the cent confessed.

'That's why  they've got  me out  here,' the  dec said.  'The map's   pi
skewey, and you'll want to take the fork on the left.'

'Good,'  the  cent said  in  relief. 'My  Box  was telling  me  entirely
different.'

'That's why we're here,' the dec  said. The cent closed his hatch,  glad
to be out of the rain, and gave orders. The battery lifted, went  slowly
down the narrowing track.

Dec Monique Lir grinned wolfishly, jumped into the Cooke.

'Hook it on out of here,'  she ordered. She keyed her com.  'Vara Seven,
this is Sibyl Beta. Fire Mission.'

'This is Vara. Go.'

'This is Beta. Battery of Shrikes, from Marten up one, left two,  target
moving north, rate of movement approximately fourkph.'

'This is Vara. We have indicators enough to fire. Shall we launch?'

'This  is Beta.  Negative. In  about... oh,  fifteen minutes  them  li'l
suckers'll run out of road and pop up right in front of you, and you can
blast 'em  over open  sights. Reverting  fire control  to you. Have fun.
This is Beta, clear.' She turned to her driver. 'Let's go find a hilltop
and watch the fireworks.'

Fifteen minutes  later, the  track petered  out into  the trees, and the
cursing cent ordered his vehicles  up into open air. They'd  reset their
course after getting a decent bearing.

'Fire,' the alt in charge of the Blue missile detachment five kilometers
away  ordered,  then turned  to  an umpire.  'I  call four  dead  Shrike
Griersons.'

'Agreed,' the woman said. 'You wiped 'em out clean.' She opened her com.
'Maneuver control, 1 have Swift Lance casualties to report.'


The Griersons came across the Landing Zone in open vees, Zhukovs  giving
simulated fire in support.  Rear ramps dropped, and  infantrymen doubled
out, went into assault formation,  charged the Blue lines. On  schedule,
the 'enemy' was forced out of his prepared positions, falling back  into
the foothills toward Mount Najim.

'You know,' one finf advised a new striker, 'if you just holler  'bang,'
and don't fire your  blanks, your piece'll be  easier to clean when  the
bullshit's over.'


The mess line clanked forward in the rain toward the line of cooks.

'Whaddawe got?' a private asked.

'Good stuff,' a finf  said enthusiastically. 'Real scrambled  eggs: some
kind of sausage, least I think that's what it is;

toasted seed-bread; fruit; tea.'

'Any of it hot?'

'Most,'  the finf  said. 'Well,  some of  it. Tepid,  anyway, which   is
better'n basic rats, isn't it?'

'Yum, yum, frigging yum. Just what  I need,' the striker said, 'to  turn
me into a Stupor Soldier, ready  to beat the antlers off that  nasty ol'
Blue Army.'

'You  suckin'  for  promotion  or  something?'  another  striker   asked
suspiciously.

'Not me. I'm just wild •wit'1 enthusiasm.'

'Would you rather be back in barracks polishing shit?'

'Hmm,' the  first striker  said. 'Can't  say as  I ever polished that...
about the only thing I haven't. But you're right, it's nice to be out in
the open  air, breathing  pure water  and smelling  dirty feet and drive
exhausts. I'm a-ready to kill!'

'Who?'

'Dunno,' the  striker said,  'and it  don't matter  much. You just point
this here trained killin' machine in the right direction and stand  back
from the spatter!'

Anonymous with  the hood  of his  anorak over  his helmet,  Erik Penwyth
shifted his full mess kit into his left hand and dipped his mug into the
kettle of bubbling tea.

The half-awake cook nearby didn't notice that Penwyth's mug was  already
nearly full of  small purple crystals.  He dumped them  into the kettle,
pretended to scoop up tea, wandered away, looking for an unoccupied tree
limb or vehicle hood to use for a table. Out of sight, he looked at  the
glop in his mess kit, grimaced, dumped it. and trotted away toward Gamma
Team's camouflaged position.

The effects of the potassium permanganate crystals would be interesting.
In a few  hours, depending on  bladder capacity, everyone  who'd had tea
with his  breakfast would  be urinating  a nice,  passionate red,  which
would work real wonders for morale.


Caud Williams cleverly disengaged his  right flank, pulled it back  to a
hidden LZ with waiting Griersons, then sent it and his reserve  regiment
in  on the  left, closing  off any  possibility for  the Blue  Force  to
retreat west, into the rolling hills behind Leggett's Heights. Now their
only retreat was Mount Najim.

'Flipping clever,' Hedley said cynically.  'Now, if I were Strike  Force
Commander and  running this  flipping mess,  and it  was a real flipping
war, I'd  want to  punt my  enemy back  into those  nice open foothills,
where  he's wide-open  for arty  and air,  and I  could obliterate   his
flipping  ass in  detail. But  what do  I know  about war?  I'm only   a
flipping alt, and I didn't write the script, either. But let's see if we
can't use this hooraw's nest to have a little fun.'


Four I&R Teams rode Cookes south-southwest, in the dying light,  between
the Swift Lance main  line and the oncoming  Swift Lance left wing.  One
Cooke's drive blew, but the other three successfully arrived deep behind
'enemy' lines, setting down in scrub jungle about two hundred meters  in
from the road from the coast to the Strike Force lines.

''Kay,' Petr Kipchak ordered. 'I'm  gonna take Gamma first, then  Alpha,
then Delta. Monique, you want to cover my flanks with Beta?'

'Why do you get to go first?' Lir asked. 'I outrank you.'

'Same reason I'm running the patrol. This was my idea.'

'Things are liable to get interesting,' Alpha Team Leader's dec, Nectan,
muttered. 'You  realize there  isn't one  of us  who's operated with any
other team? Nice on-the-job training.'

'So what?' Petr asked reasonably.  'We're just beating up crunchies.  It
isn't like they're  'Raum, knowing the  turf and lugging  a real gun  or
two, now is it?'

'Strong point.'

'However, you did bring up a  valid issue. Brief your teams- if  we step
in the doggie-doo, pull back across  this river we're gonna come to  and
hit 'em once, hard, move on out. We'll RV fifty meters back of this here
vehicle park, giving them the  Cookes, which should be a  surprise; then
pull  back  another  three hundred  meters,  backtrailing  and ambushing
anybody who's still on our ass. Set up a defensive perimeter, and  we'll
move out for home at false dawn. But that's only if everything's  blown.
Let's go find  somebody and ruin  what's left of  their day.' He  looked
around. 'Njangu... take point.'

Yoshitaro covered his surprise-he  surely didn't feel ready.  He started
to protest, saw Petr's expression  in the twilight. 'Moving out,  boss.'
He paced  forward, remembering  how he'd  gone down  city streets, every
nerve, every tendril feeling for something strange, something hostile. A
game, sure, he thought. Next time it'll likely be 'Raum. Good  practice,
like they say.

He moved up  to the river,  peered across it  from under a  bush, saw no
enemy waiting.  He motioned  for flankers,  waited until  a weapons team
came up. Njangu motioned, as  he'd learned. Me first... then  you two...
then the rest will cross in file. Flankers go wide on either side of the
main  column.  He realized  that,  for a  moment,  the Force's  greenest
soldier, he  was in  command of  thirty people's  lives-and relished it,
just as he'd reveled in leading his clique into villainy.

The water was cold, about waist-deep. He went across the  ten-meter-wide
water, facing upstream, scuttled quickly up the far bank. Secure. Cross.
The I&R patrol followed him. On the farside they re-formed, and went  on
to the road. Njangu crouched in brush beside it, weapon ready.

Petr and Monique came up, motioned  for him to keep watch to  the south.
They went  to the  center of  the fragmenting  pavement, knelt, and held
some sort of conference, frequently examining the roadbed. Njangu had no
idea  what they  were looking  at or  for. Monique  made the  motion  of
flipping coin, Petr tapped his butt. She shook her head in mock  dismay,
motioned him to go south.

Kipchak came back. 'Patrol south, staying on this side of the road,'  he
whispered. 'I'll have two SSWs right behind you. If you see them  before
they see you, pull  off to the side,  grenade 'em, and we'll  attack. If
they see you first'-he shrugged- 'try to 'die' neatly.'

They moved about two  kilometers, and it was  very dark when they  heard
the  whine of  vehicles and  saw the  flicker of  headlights, very  much
against maneuver regulations.

''Kay,' Petr said in what Njangu thought was a shout, jolting him,  then
he realized Kipchak  had spoken in  a normal voice.  'Alpha, Beta, right
side of the  road, one SSW  right here, the  rest of you  flank on back.
Beta, Gamma, filter  on back with  'em. Dorwith, set  your SSW up  here,
back of Njangu. Monique, move your  Squad Weapon back of 'em after  they
stop, and when I holler run a burst out.'

'Got it, boss,' Dorwith said.

''Kay, Fin/Kipchak,' Monique said. 'I'll be running the blaster  myself.
RHIP.' She disappeared down the winding road.

'Njangu, take off your Aggressor armband.'

Njangu obeyed. Kipchak did the same, setting his blaster against a tree.
He unfastened his combat vest, let  it hang open, rolled one sleeve  up,
tossed his helmet on the ground.

'If they win, they can shoot us as spies,' Petr said. 'Now, you lie down
here, just to the side of the road, and I'm going to look desperate. You
fell over with some kind of creeping crud, and we desperately need help.
Here they come.'

The six Griersons were configured for cargo, their rear deck a  scalable
single compartment from the TC's  hatch back. Their only armament  was a
single heavy blaster in each turret, and the guns were pointed  skyward,
unmanned.  They  were traveling  about  ten feet  above  the ground,  as
maneuver doctrine prescribed this close to the lines, below the  horizon
of any TA radar.

The Vehicle Commander in the  lead Grierson saw a disheveled  fin/waving
frantically, shouting for help,  and a man sprawled  at the side of  the
road.

'Drop it, Sy,' he ordered, and the driver obeyed. The VC, a warrant-two,
clambered out of his hatch  onto the Grierson's roof before  the vehicle
grounded.

'What happened?' he called.

'Sir... we  lost it,  tryin' t'  lift over  them trees,' Kipchak panted.
'Think my aspirant's dead... he's not moving...'

The Vehicle  Commander went  quickly down  the climbing  indents to  the
ground and to the distraught soldier.

'Easy,  man... gleet!'  The gleet  was caused  by a  somewhat  non-issue
stubby blaster pressed against his face.

'Shoot!' Kipchak shouted, and Lir let  a burst out of her Squad  Support
Weapon. The I&R troops came  out of concealment, weapons ready.  'You're
now the prisoner  of the Blue  Force,' Petr shouted.  'Hiccup and you're
slotted.'

'You can't do this! You're not in enemy uniform,' the warrant stuttered.

'Yep,' Kipchak agreed. 'Illegal as all hell. Immoral too, probably.  Two
men to each vehicle. Anybody moves, secure 'em properly.'

Men and woman  swarmed aboard the  Griersons. Njangu heard  a shout from
one vehicle, then a  squawk. Nectan's grinning head  came out of the  VC
hatch. 'Secured. One black eye.'

'This isn't part of the game,' the warrant objected.

'Nope,' Kipchak said. 'I'm ashamed of myself. What're you carrying?'

The warrant pressed his lips together.

'Look, friend,' Petr said mildly. 'All I have to do is look for  myself.
And you  didn't bother  blanking your  bumper letters,  so I know you're
support for  Fourth Regiment.  Just tell  me what's  in the  back of the
putt-putts, or I'll  behave like a  real guerrilla and  shoot your young
ass. Which means  throwing you in  the river, then  tying you to  a tree
somewhere up the hill and not telling anybody where you are for a day or
two.'

The warrant stared at Petr, decided he was as big a madman as he'd heard
I&R  noncoms were,  and would  do exactly  as promised.  'The first  two
Griersons have portashelters and sleeping bags, the next hot rations for
dinner, and the last has supplies for the Regimental Officers' Mess.'

The Swift Lance POWs had been prodded off their vehicles, and  corralled
to one side of the road. Monique came up in time to hear the last of the
warrant's report.

'Oh dear,' she said, not meaning every syllable. 'It's going to be  wet,
cold,  and  hungry  tonight  for some  folks.  Bet  that'll  make Fourth
Regiment real nasty fighters by morning. I hear it's gonna monsoon  like
a bastard, too.'

'You can't do this,' the warrant tried again.

'But we just did,' Kipchak said. 'You got an umpire with you?'

'No.'

'Hmm. Presents a problem. We could actually strip everything out of  the
Griersons and  burn them  for authenticity,  but I  think Daddy Williams
would  spank.  Lir,  you  know  how  to  disable  a  Grierson,  not  too
permanent?'

'Yeh.'

'Do it, then.' Kipchak turned back to the warrant. 'Raiders can't afford
prisoners. I could let you go on parole, but you look like one of  those
sneaky types  who'd deny  anything happened.  What we  did to  you enemy
sorts was line you up against  those trees over there, and commit  a war
crime. To prove it, we're going to take everybody's ID card. That  ought
to convince the umps we done you wrong, and you're officially dead. Plus
we'll take your pants with us.

'As far  as actual  damage, gracious  freedom-loving thugs  that we are,
we're going to turn you loose. It's about six kilometers up the road  to
something  resembling  Swift  Lance people,  I'd  guess  about the  same
distance back to your friends. Have a simply wonderful evening stroll.'


The Swift  Lance attack  continued. Holo  teams hovered  over the  front
lines, recording the bravery of  Our Fighting Men and Women  for viewers
throughout the Cumbre System. It was a very dull week for news.

The Blue Force fell back and back to more prepared positions, left  from
the last time around, ringing  the crest of Mount Najim.  Overjoyed they
wouldn't have  to be  doing much  digging, they  prepared for their last
stand,  which  would  be  followed   by  the  reception  on  the   final
'battleground' by  Caud Williams  and his  staff for  the Rentiers   ofD
Cumbre.

The men and women  on both sides hoped  there'd be a few  crumbs falling
off the table for them.


'This  won't  make  us  well  loved,'  Aspirant  Vauxhall  said,   after
considering Hedley's suggestion.

'Probably not,' Hedley said. 'Big flipping deal.'

'But  it surely  will cause  some hootin'  and hollerin','  Senior  Tweg
Gonzales said thoughtfully.

'Which is what I&R's supposed to do, isn't it?'

'I guess.' Gonzales eyed his superior.  'Jon, let me guess why you  came
up with this idea. You figure that'll  put us on the shit list, and  the
worst thing Williams could do to... or  for... us is to make us get  out
there on  the Highland  walls and  work for  a living  hunting real-life
bandits.'

'Why, Brer Rabbit, you perspicacious son of a bitch,' Hedley commented.


'Lower,' Caud Williams ordered. 'I want a closer look at that knoll.'

'Yessir,'.Finf  Running Bear  said, and  took the  Cooke down  to  about
thirty meters above the ground. 'We're getting simulated fire, sir.'

'Ignore that,' Williams said impatiently.  'This has nothing to do  with
the war  games.' He  studied the  terrain, rechecked  his projected map.
'That'll do,' he decided. 'Easy access from the road. Our guests will be
able to see the entire maneuver area, and there's more than enough  room
for the tents, in the event of rain tomorrow.'

His com buzzed. He keyed the  mike. 'Lance Six Actual... very well.  Mil
Rao, I'm scrambling.' He listened,  and his eyes widened. 'Oh  brother.'
Williams caught himself. 'Message received, understood. Will arrive back
in your area in... one-five. Have my staff ready to discuss this matter.
Out.' He replaced the com in its slot. 'Back to field HQ.'

'Yessir.'

'This'll  put  a fine  crimp  in things,'  Williams  said. Running  Bear
maintained an interested silence.

'This is classified,' Williams  said. 'But PlanGov  has just had  a deep
space com.'

'From the Confederation?' Running Bear blurted hopefully.

'Negative,'  Williams  said.  'Don't  interrupt,  soldier.  From   Alena
Redruth, the Protector ofLarix  and Kura. He'll arrive  in-system within
an E-week for a conference with Governor General Haemer.'

Running Bearwaited the appropriate time, then asked, 'About what?'

'We don't  know,' Williams  said.  'But  he wants  the conference   on C
Cumbre,  not  here.  Governor  General Haemer  wants  us  to  provide an
appropriate escort.'  He thought  for a  moment. 'I  think we  can still
bring the games to a  satisfactory conclusion... but some units'll  have
to be withdrawn to prepare for the ceremonies.'


'You're what?' Hedley snarled.

'Gone, sir,' Ben Dill said. 'I go bye-bye. All the Griersons you've  got
are out of the games and pulled back to Mahan.'

'Why?'

'No word,  sir. Not  even a  rumor. But  we're supposed  to prepare  for
offplanet service.'

'Nobody  tells me  flipping shit,'  Hedley said.  'So I  don't have  any
transport but those lousy flimsy flipping Cookes, which is gonna throw a
crimp in my goddamned plans. Or are the goddamned games canceled?'

Dill shook his head. 'Dunno, sir.'

'Probably not,' Hedley said. 'Continue the mission and all that  crap...
without any support.'

'I don't understand,' Vauxhall said.  'Why'd they lift our air,  instead
of taking it from the general reserve?'

'A simple reason. Dill, stick fingers in your flipping ears so you don't
get a big head or think ill of your superiors.'

'Yessir,' the big man said, not moving.

'Aggressors Always Lose, so they're making  it easier for us to take  it
in the shorts. Remember which end of the stick we're holding?'

'Oh,' the aspirant said. 'So what are we going to do?'

'What we always do,' Hedley said. 'Improvise and come up with Plan B.'



CHAPTER 20

The Blue  Force held  a semicircular  line about  a kilometer  below the
plateaulike summit of  Mount Najim. Half  a kilometer downslope  was the
knoll Caud Williams  had chosen for  his reception, promptly  dubbed the
Pimple  by  everyone below  the  rank of  mil.  Williams positioned  his
headquarters, in a collection of hasti-domes, behind the Pimple,  masked
from enemy  fire. No  sensible officer  would have  considered sending a
missile into the  area. Promotions were  hard enough to  come by in  the
Force. Covered bleachers were set up atop the Pimple and to one side was
a large  gaily striped  tent rented  for the  banquet. Caud Williams was
ready for final victory.


Governor  General Wilth  Haemer arrived  with a  flurry of  aides and  a
harried expression. Caud Williams saluted  him, and Haemer drew him  out
of earshot. 'I'm amazed you aren't worried,' he said.

'I  see  nothing to  worry  about,' Williams  said.  'The maneuvers  are
proceeding precisely as I'd anticipated.'

'I don't mean  them,' Haemer said  in exasperation. 'I  mean'-he glanced
about-'Redruth's visit.'

'I've learned,' Williams said with  more than a touch of  pomposity, 'to
worry  about one  thing at  a time.  I'm sure  Protector Redruth  merely
wishes to discuss the current problem with the Confederation. Perhaps he
has good news for us, or has a plan for us to work together on. His last
visit was most amiable, wasn't it?'

'Yes, yes,' Haemer said. 'But still...'

'Everything will be fine.'

'I certainly hope you're right.'

The two  moved apart,  each wishing  the other  fool would  slip into  a
garbage pit in the near future.


Twenty-one men and  women in Confederation  uniform were hidden  about a
kilometer  west  of the  Pimple.  Using a  trick  learned by  the  first
settlers on D-Cumbre,  they'd found a  kwelf grove for  concealment. The
kwelf grows in a  circle, sending out runners  that root and then  climb
upward as first saplings, then  trees. The trees grow closer  and closer
together, until it appears  the mature kwelf is  a solid hedge. But  the
interior is open, covered by overhead growth and is anywhere from ten to
thirty meters in  diameter and makes  a perfect shelter.  An entrance is
generally made by cutting away, and then replacing, a single tree.

Jord'n Brooks checked his watch.  'They will begin their stupid  endgame
in thirty minutes. Let us go. May the One help us complete our Task.'

Wordlessly, the  twenty picked  up their  weapons and  moved toward  the
grove's entrance.


'I resent that. Daddy,' Jasith Mellusin said. 'I wanted to come see this
because, well, because you said you  wanted me to take a bigger  part in
the family business, and we do business with the soldiers, don't we?'

Godrevy Mellusin lifted an eyebrow. 'Jasith, don't take me for an  utter
fool, just because I'm  your father. No, we  don't do any business  with
the Confederation forces, unless you sell  them something in that  money
losing lingerie shop I let you talk me into. Nor do I believe you wanted
to come out here in the rain just to keep me company to watch a bunch of
muddy soldiers run up and down.

'Who is he,  and I hope  he's high enough  in the ranks  to keep me from
grinding my teeth?'

Jasith rounded her eyes innocently.  'I'm sure I don't know  what you're
talking about.' She started giggling, and her father smiled wryly as one
of his aides led them to their reserved place in the bleachers.

*   *   *

'What's going on?' Loy Kouro demanded irritably of the soldier.

'Sorry,  sir,  Caud  Williams'   orders,'  Reb  Gonzales  said.   'We're
commandeering this vehicle for the duration of the maneuvers.'

'Whaaat? You can't do that! This  is a Matin news lifter! You  know what
Matin is, don't you?'

'Yessir. A  holo, sir.  But I  have my  orders. Please  step out  of the
vehicle.'

'But we're covering your little games, dammit! If you grab this  lifter,
there won't be any coverage from us!'

'Yessir,' Gonzales said. 'A terrible pity, sir. Now if you'd step out of
the lifter, sir?'

'The hell I will,' Kouro said. 'Driver, take it up.'

The driver's  hand touched  the controls,  and Gonzales  pulled the door
open and yanked the man out.

'You son of  a-' The driver  came up, fists  ready, and Gonzales'  spear
hand went forward into his gut, came back, slammed into the side of  his
neck.

'I saw that!' Kouro said.

'Saw your driver slip and fall?' Gonzales said. 'Knocked himself out  on
a rock, he did.  Half a dozen other  people saw what happened,  too, and
will be happy to testify if you choose to press charges. Now, if  you'll
unass the lifter... sir... we can go about our business.'

Kouro got out, and two strikers had him by the elbows. 'Put him with the
others,' Gonzales ordered. 'And drag this poor stumbling lad over to see
if he needs medical attention.'

There were seven other civilian lifters, private and commercial,  pulled
off the main road. Their drivers  and passengers were guarded by half  a
dozen I&R troops. Alt Hedley came out of the brush.

'This is going to make a bit of a stink,' Gonzales observed.

'Probably,' Hedley said. 'But if we'd let him go on by, he would've said
something,  and  Swift  Lance   isn't  totally  brainless.  Pity   about
thatjournoh, though. Do  you remember how  they stand on  pay raises for
altsT'

'Dunno, sir. I only read The Economist,' Gonzales said.

'And aren't you the high-class tart.' Hedley tapped fingernails  against
the side of the  lifter, thinking. 'On the  other hand, this could  make
things  very sneaky...  Three, no  four volunteers  from, who's  in  the
barrel this week? Gamma.' He raised his voice. 'Give me Kipchak, Dorwith
with a Squad Support Weapon, Heckmyer and that new guy. Yoshitaro.'

The four came out of the brush. 'Get your respective asses in this  here
journalistic vehicle and stand by. We're gonna get real flipping  dirty,
stinky, illegal, and immoral.'


Simulated missiles launched as the first wave of Griersons swept in from
the east,  through drifting  clouds of  rain, and  landed on  the rising
ground on  one side  of the  knoll. It  was spectacular, with preplanted
demolition charges going  off, smoke bombs  arcing through the  air, and
the slam of practice charges from the Griersons and supporting Zhukovs.

If anyone  noted the  Griersons came  in for  rather gentle  landings to
avoid damage, no one commented, nor did anyone ask why Williams  ordered
a high casualty-producing frontal assault on the Blue lines rather  than
a flanking attack.

The Swift Lance soldiers, shouting aggressively as ordered, mucked their
way toward the Blue positions.

Then the second wave struck, coming in from the west, landing closer  to
the Blue lines. The spectators were enthralled, battle on all sides.


'Hey, idiots,' the dec shouted. 'Where  the hell did you come from?  The
battle's over there, you-'

Jord'n  Brooks  shot him,  and  the woman  beside  him gunned  down  the
noncom's two flankers. A fourth soldier gaped at the gore, frozen by the
dying gasps of his teammates. Brooks shot him before he could recover.

'Hurry,' he  ordered. 'We're  behind the  soldiers' assault  lines.' The
'Raum pushed through the trees, paying no attention to the war cries  to
their right  as the  second wave  attacked Mount  Najim. Ahead was their
target-the knoll with a brightly painted tent and bleachers beside it.


'Land  the  third element,'  Caud  Williams ordered,  and  his executive
officer. Mil Rao, spoke into the com.

Five  waves  of  Griersons-the  Force's  First  Regiment-  lifted   from
concealed LZs and drove  toward Mount Najim as  the rain broke, and  the
sun blazed through for a perfect moment. Caud Williams looked around his
command center, saw the smooth  efficiency of his staff, heard  the roar
of the ACVs and thought with enormous pride. This is all mine. I  raised
this unit and built it from nothing.

The First Regiment  would overfly this  knoll, and land  just behind the
Blue Lines, and the war... the battle game, he corrected himself,  would
be over, and a triumph.

Williams saw a small news lifter, with the logo Matin on it, dart across
the battlefield's  rear, in  front of  the onrushing  Griersons. If that
idiot gets in the  way of my people  and there's a collision...  Then he
relaxed, seeing it level out  well below the Griersons' flight  pattern.
Must be that young firebrand Kouro. His father told me he'd be  covering
this  for his  holo. Good  footage he  must be  getting, thrilling   for
Cumbrians to watch, make  any real Confederation citizen's  heart pound.
Must remember to get a copy of the disc. Williams put the matter out  of
his mind, turned back to his conquest.

The lifter banked and drove directly for Williams' command center.  From
the jungle to the east, seven other lifters joined it.


Jasith  Mellusin peered  about, trying  to see  where her...  well,  not
really, at least not  yet, her Garvin might  be. She wished she'd  asked
just what kind of a job he did, for she didn't know where to look.


Garvin  Jaansma boredly  put the  touchup sprayer  to a  scratch on  his
gleaming Grierson. He wondered if he  could ghost out and chance a  call
to Jasith's  com number,  decided it  wasn't a  good idea.  Ben Dill had
assigned him this job, not Senior Tweg Ric or somebody not worth obeying
if you could get  away with it. He  went back to his  work, wondering if
this secret mission  they'd been pulled  out of the  field for would  be
interesting, and  ifit'd keep  him from  being able  to get  a pass into
Leggett.


An MP, elegant  in dress uniform,  held up his  hand. 'Hold on,  troops.
This is the VIP area, and you can't-'

One of Brooks' men shot him in  the head, and he spasmed back and  down.
Brooks heard alarmed shouts, paid no mind.

The bleachers full of  the enemies of his  people were just two  hundred
meters away. He was ready for his Task.


The news-lifter grounded outside the command center, and two of Williams
security men came toward it as the hatch opened. Five bearded, dirty men
wearing Blue armbands tumbled out. Dorwith fired a burst of blanks,  and
Njangu shouted,  'You're dead,'  and the  five crashed  into the command
center.

'Hedley!' Caud Williams sputtered. 'What in the name of-'

Hedley thumbed a blue smoke  grenade, tossed it toward Williams.  'We're
brave idiots  on a  suicide mission,  sir,' he  said. 'I'm afraid you're
dead!'

'You can't-'

'I did, sir,' and  the command center swirled  into a chaos of  rattling
blanks,  varicolored  smoke  grenades  and  shouting,  screaming   staff
officers. Outside was the drive-whine as the other commandeered  lifters
landed, and  the shouts  of the  company as  they rolled  out and  began
'slaughtering' Strike Force Swift Lance's command elements.

Over all was Caud Williams' parade-ground roar: 'You're doomed,  Hedley,
you bastard! I'll have you court-martialed! Your career-'

Then Njangu heard the hard blast of real gunfire.


Three  'Raum  knelt,  sprayed  the  bleachers,  and  then  the   blaster
explosions were drowned by the screams.


Gonzales was bellowing: 'Come on, you stupid bastards! Get rid of  those
frigging blanks! This is for real!'


Jasith  Mellusin stood,  trying to  see what  was going  on, saw  a  man
suddenly without his head fall  two meters away in the  bleachers, blood
spraying. Her mouth opened to  scream, then her father knocked  her down
and threw himself on top of her.


A man in civilian clothes, with a pistol in his hand, ducked around  the
side of a  lifter, hastily shot  at Brooks, missed.  Before Brooks could
react, the  man shot  the woman  next to  Brooks, then  Brooks fired two
rounds, and the man  fell. Brooks' teeth were  skinned back in a  silent
snarl as he ran closer to the bleachers.

A  'Raum  beside him  pulled  the trigger  on  his blaster,  gun  set on
automatic.  Rounds  yammered away  into  emptiness and  the  blaster was
silent. He stood, stupidly staring at the empty weapon, finger moving on
the trigger, then he was gone, and Brooks didn't see who killed him.


Njangu  ran  out of  the  Command Center,  finger  pushing the  magazine
release,  blank  magazine dropping  away,  left hand  reaching  into his
combat vest,  finding the  heavy magazine  with real  rounds, pushing it
home in his blaster's receiver, somehow remembering to tap the  magazine
base to make sure it was  seated, then he was going forward,  and heard,
for the first time  in his life, the  slam of blaster explosions  around
him.

'Around here,' Hedley shouted, running toward a hasti-dome, and  Njangu,
Dorwith and a scattering of other I&R soldiers followed, running past an
utterly motionless staff haut, mouth  gaping open, shut, like a  beached
fish.

Njangu came into  the open, into  insanity. Confederation soldiers  were
systematically shooting into the VIP stands. What the hell was-

'Kill 'em,' Hedley shouted. 'They're phonies! Kill 'em all!'

Obediently Njangu knelt, pulled his  blaster into his shoulder, put  his
sight's dot on the center of one shooter, touched the trigger. He  never
saw the  flame, never  felt the  recoil-tap, but  saw the  man convulse,
flinging his weapon  high into the  air, and slump.  Yoshitaro moved his
aim to a woman reloading her blaster, fired again.


Dorwith's SSW  yammered, and  blasts exploded  across the  ground, swept
over the  killers, then  a bullet  smashed his  shoulder, and  he rolled
away, groaning. Njangu remembered his  training, picked up the gun,  and
darted forward,  hearing rounds  slam in  nearby. He  crouched behind  a
wheeled transportall, used that for a rest, sprayed three attackers, saw
them fall.

Someone was shouting, pulling at him, and the words came through: 'Stop,
dammit, you're killing our men!' then a bullet took the fool, and Njangu
found the shooter, killed him in turn.

*    *    *

A woman  wearing a  black dress  stumbled toward  Jord'n Brooks,  bloody
hands covering her face. She took  them away, and there was nothing  but
gore and torn flesh. He shot her twice in the chest, looked for  another
target.

Two  'Raum beside  him fell,  and he  twisted sideways,  went down,  gun
turning, firing. His shot took Dec Alyce Quant in the side of her chest.


Njangu saw a man fumble a thick cylinder from his backpack, come to  his
knees,  lean  back for  the  throw. Njangu  killed  him. The  explosives
thudded next to his body,  and another attacker rolled away,  screaming.
The  charge exploded,  red fire,  black smoke,  mud cascading,  shrapnel
hissing, and bodies pin-wheeled away.


Brooks saw his grenadier  die, saw the blast  kill half a doyen  or more
'Raum, saw there were only three  of his team left. 'Away,' he  shouted.
'Away,' and ran, zigzagging, for the distant jungle.


'That's it,' Njangu heard. 'That's it! They're all down. Cease  firing!'
He  realized with  some surprise  he was  the one  shouting. The  firing
stopped for an instant, and he faintly heard screams, moans from the VIP
bleachers, saw men  and women wearing  crosses on their  sleeves running
toward them. Ahead was a scatter of uniformed bodies, shredded and  torn
by gunfire and the bomb blast.  He saw movement, and someone fired,  and
the body contorted, lay still.

There were still a dozen rounds in the belt of his SSW. Weapon ready, he
walked toward  the dead  madmen, barrel  sweeping back  and forth.  Petr
Kipchak  was beside  him shaking  his head,  eyes glaring  in rage   and
disbelief. 'What a hell of a way to run a war.'



CHAPTER 21

The Force buried its  dead under a gray,  lowering sky. The seven  who'd
died in war-games accidents were laid to rest with the same ceremony  as
the five men  and women of  Intelligence and Reconnaissance  Company and
the  four other  Foice soldiers  who'd been  killed stopping  the  'Raum
attack. If anyone in I&R objected, they said nothing.

Nineteen  civilians had  been killed  by the  'Raum, twice  that  number
wounded.  Six innocent  'Raum were  murdered by  roving gangs,  and  the
Eckmuhl was put under a dawn-to-dusk curfew 'for its own protection'  by
Governor General Haemer. The Rentiers suggested the 'Raum community have
penalties levied against it, but Haemer  refused to order this. The  non
'Raum of Cumbre seethed-something must be done about this outrage.


'That was a  damned-fool stunt,' Caud  Williams told Alt  Hedley. Hedley
stayed at attention, and silent. He didn't think Williams wanted  either
agreement or disagreement. 'But you... and your men... must be commended
for the swiftness you responded with when those traitorous  backstabbers
made their murderous assault,' he went on.

'Thank you, sir.'

'I  have a  question,' Williams  said. 'It  appeared that  all your  men
carried live ammunition, which  you should certainly know  is prohibited
by regulations.'

Once more Hedley said nothing.

'If I were a fool... which I am not... I might ask why you allowed this,
and where  your men  procured these  rounds, when  all our munitions are
rigidly  rationed.  Would you  care  to volunteer  any  information?' He
waited a bare  second. 'I thought  not. Under normal  circumstances, the
heroism of your men would  merit appropriate medals and promotion,  just
as your mischief requires punishment. It's my thinking that the two even
each other out. What's your opinion?'

'Frankly, sir?'

'I doubt if you know any other way to answer.'

'Very well,  sir. I  don't care  about myself.  But I  think it's  a bit
rotten for you to do that to my women and men, who were merely following
my orders.'

Williams' ears reddened. He took  a deep breath, held it,  then exhaled.
'I asked your opinion... and I received it. What I said, stands. Let  us
move on to other matters. There is a special mission required of me, and
of certain Strike Force personnel in two days, on C-Cumbre, which is  of
all-encompassing importance.  It should  only take  a day,  little more.
When I  return, we  shall finally  dispose of  these hill-bandits. Every
effort must be expended, and I require the utmost diligence.

'I  expect  my Intelligence  and  Reconnaissance Company  to  be in  the
forefront. You'll be reinforced by the band and the Honor Guard-that is,
the Headquarters  Security Section-  when they  return from C-Cumbre-and
you will be  supported by a  section of Heavy  Assault Vehicles and  the
Mobile Scout Troop. If you  need further transport. Mil Rao  will either
call for volunteers or detail additional elements.

'Yessir,' Hedley said, saluted, and left, wondering what his  line-slime
would think of xylophonetinklers and brasspolishers being added to their
ranks.



CHAPTER 22

C-Cumbre

Winds swirled across the planet's man-scarred surface, sent dust  devils
curling up into  emptiness. Its dry,  hot atmosphere was  breathable but
unpleasant, each breath tasting of invisible razor blades.

The human Planetary Headquarters was a series of cold  temporary-looking
buildings sealed under a low  dome, as if it were  precariously situated
on an airless moon. Half  a planet away was  the Musth Center, two  four
story buildings with in-verted-C roofs.

Great  jagged  pits,  inverted  ziggurats,  dotted  the  landscape,  and
machinery, some robot,  some remote-controlled,  a very  little hands-on
operated, churned around the diggings.

The  two fly-on-fly-off  transports that'd  brought the  Strike  Force's
Griersons and two Zhukovs hovered a dozen meters above the ground,  side
ramps  gaping,  and  a  stream  of  combat  vehicles  floated  out, each
disgorging its antenna array as it did.

Garvin and  Kang were  out of  their stations,  hanging over  Ben Dill's
seat, looking through the curving windscreen at the desolation.

'I know all this digging pays the rent,' Kang said. 'But does it have to
be so ugly?'

'Shaddup,' Dill ordered. 'Stanislaus's working his usual magic, and  I'd
as rather he  not ram one  of these cargo  pigs while he's  listening to
your brillig repartee.'

The two stayed  silent while Gorecki  maneuvered the Grierson  away from
the starship to the line of ACVs parked outside Planetary  Headquarters,
where a  guide waited.  He motioned  the ACV  back, forth,  to the side,
until it  was precisely  aligned, then  brought his  forearms across his
chest in a  chopping motion. Obediently,  Gorecki grounded the  vehicle.
'We're down, Ben,' he reported.

'Power stays on,' Dill ordered. 'But you can lock the controls.'

''Kay.' Gorecki came back from his position in the nose. 'What now?'

'Just exactly what we're trained to do,' Ben said. 'We wait.'

'You got any idea what we're waiting for?'

'Hell no,' Dill said. 'We're mushrooms. Kept in the dark and fed only on
shit.'

Caud  Williams  had  ordered  the  combat  vehicles  detailed  for   the
Protector's visitor to be at Condition Yellow-missiles, rockets,  shells
out of their  lockers and in  the launchers/guns. Garvin  remembered the
Malvern, Protector Redruth's cold-eyed bullyboy Celidon, decided that if
he  were  Williams,  he'd  have  more  artillery  loaded  and  locked on
Condition Red, and in the air, not sitting around waiting to be hit.


Half an E-day later the com ordered: 'All personnel disembark.'

'With or without sidearms?' Garvin asked.

'With,' Dill said. 'When in doubt, carry.'

Ten minutes after they'd  formed up in front  of the Grierson's nose,  a
starship on secondary lowered out of the yellow-brown murk toward them.

'Good gods, what's that?' Garvin asked.

'Uh... I  think it's  a Remora-class  destroyer leader,'  Kang said. 'It
would've commanded  a flotilla  of smaller  Confederation destroyers.  I
built a model of one when I was  a kid. But the one I built didn't  have
all those extra blisters and gun stations.'

'That's what happens here on the fringes,' Dill said. 'The Confederation
finally grants a goodie, figures that's enough for a generation or  two,
so whoever gets the goodie has  to do field modification until his  eyes
bleed.'

'That makes sense,'  Gorecki said. 'But  what did they  use to make  the
mods with? A sledgehanuner? And what the hell are those?'

Those were  four very  sleek, very  modem darts  of patrol ships, flying
close formation around the DL.

'Damfino,' Dill confessed. 'That big hog's something that looks like  my
grandfather commanded it,  and it's flanked  with some trick  stuff that
looks like it came straight out of Centrum last week.'

'Son of a bitch,' Garvin remembered. 'You know, we were told the Malvern
had some real zoomie new spit-kits back in the hold when we were  coming
out. Wonder if ol' Redruth traded for 'em with the 'pirates,' or-'

'Shaddup,' Dill said. 'Don't go out of your way to get in trouble.'

The DL grounded, but the patrol craft kept orbiting. There was an emblem
on the large ship's nose Garvin  couldn't make out. The ship's name  was
the Corfe.

Their  earpieces  clicked, and  they  heard Caud  Williams'  voice: 'All
Strike Force Swift Lance elements...  stand by to render full  honors to
Alena Redruth, Protector of Larix and Kura.'

Governor  General  Haemer, flanked  by  Caud Williams,  Mil  Rao, and  a
bluster of staff officers  plus a color guard  and a few bandsmen,  came
out of the dome and went to the Corfe. A lock opened, a ramp slid  down,
and four men walked down. The Cumbre colors dipped and music played.

'Now please God, let 'em walk  on by,' Gorecki said. 'I got  no interest
in playing pet for offworlders.'

But the officials seemed intent on trooping the line.

'Stand tall,  fellers,' Dill  said, and  his crewmen  obeyed, peripheral
vision at Condition Red. Garvin especially wanted to see Alena  Redruth,
never having  been this  close to  what was  supposedly the  last of  an
endangered breed, an absolute dictator. Redruth wasn't that  impressive,
smallish, balding, in  his late thirties,  more like a  minor bureaucrat
than a  warlord. He  wore a  simple dark  brown tunic  and pants, with a
single  decoration  around  his  neck.  Flanking  him  were  two obvious
bodyguards.

Garvin's attention was jolted away  by the man just behind  Redruth. The
man was  tall, muscular,  with the  inadequately repaired  remnants of a
scar across his  forehead. His expression  was mixed cold  amusement and
mild dislike. He wore a dark green dress uniform with decorations, black
knee boots and a black-leather Sam Browne belt with a dagger sheathed on
one side and a pistol on the other. Garvin remembered him well, from the
troop compartment of the Malvern, Celidon, the leader of the  'pirates.'
I'm invisible, Garvin thought as the party came abreast of the Grierson.
Of no interest. Just another ranker.

Naturally Celidon paused. 'If you don't mind,' he said to Williams, 'I'd
like to ask a question or two of your men here.'

'Of course not,' Williams said, a trifle nervously.

Celidon went to  Dill, looked at  the single row  of decorations on  his
chest. 'You're on your... second enlistment?'

'Yessir,' Ben said.

'Plan on making a career of the service?'

'Haven't decided yet, sir.'

Celidon nodded,  then his  eyes went,  like a  stooping hawk, to Garvin.
'You, Striker. What's your post?'

'Gunner, sir.'

'What's the maximum effective range of one of your Shrikes?'

'Classified, sir.'

'You can tell me, troop,' Celidon snapped. 'Larix and Kura are allies of
yours, and I spent a good deal of time as a Confederation officer.'

Garvin didn't answer.

'Go ahead. Striker,' Caud Williams said.

'In theory, ninety kilometers  once the target is  thoroughly acquired,'
Jaansma said by rote.  'In fact, probably fifty  or sixty should be  the
maximum allowed for, and that in extremely favorable conditions.'

'Pretty close,' Celidon said. 'Try forty in combat. You fired one yet?'

'No, sir.'

'You think you could hit something under real-world conditions?'

'I know so, sir.'

Celidon smiled  briefly. 'May  your confidence  be rewarded.  What about
your chainguns?'

'Four  thousand   meters  effective   range,  best   used  under  visual
conditions, either natural or amplified.'

'How long does it take to reload?'

'About three minutes, sir.'

'I'd guess you could do it in less,' Celidon said. 'You're a big lad. My
congratulations-you appear to  know your tools.  Let me ask  you another
question, if I might.  Does it worry you  that your Strike Force  has no
interstellar capability, that no elements of the Confederation Navy  are
stationed in the Cumbre System?'

'No, sir,  it doesn't  bother me.  Things like  that are  Caud Williams'
concern, not mine.'

'What about the Musth?'

'What about the Musth? Sir.'

'Do they worry you?'

'No, sir. We're at peace. Should they?'

Celidon nodded, as it satisfied. 'One final question: How long have  you
served with the Strike Force?'

'Eight months, sir. I came out on the Malvern.'

Celidon jolted slightly, tried to cover. 'Not familiar with that  ship,'
he said. 'Carry on,' and started away.

The dignitaries  moved on.  Caud Williams  remained next  to Jaansma. 'I
told you once to rethink what you told me, didn't I?' he asked.

'Yessir,' Garvin said.

'I'm not a total oaf. I saw Celidon's reaction just now. And I'm capable
of reevaluating things  when necessary. I  assume you haven't  blathered
your theories about the Malvern to everyone?'

'Nossir,' Garvin said truthfully. 'You ordered me not to.'

'Good man.' Williams looked after Redruth. 'Yes, some things might  just
be worth reconsidering. Tell your company commander I authorized you  to
add another slash, Fin/Jaansma. You did well today.'

'Yessir,' Garvin said. 'Thank you, sir.'


Haemer  escorted  the  out-system visitors  to  C-Cumbre's  elaborate if
seldom-used conference room, and aides offered refreshments. For a time,
he tried  light conversation,  which Redruth  seemed amiably  willing to
continue indefinitely.

Finally, the governor general couldn't restrain himself:

'Protector Redruth, what have you heard of late from the Confederation?'

Redruth smiled wryly.  'Nothing. I was  about to ask  the same question,
but  you  just answered  it  for me.  Absolutely  nothing. No  coms,  no
visitors, no  naval ships,  no convoys,  and the  handful of independent
merchants who've visited my planets also come from the fringes, and  are
as much in the dark as we are.

'I chanced sending a corvette with two escorts toward Centrum almost two
E-months ago.  They've vanished...  or at  least we've  had no word, and
they've not responded to any of my coms.'

Haerner and Williams looked carefully at the Protector, trying to see if
he was  lying, but  his bland  face showed  nothing but  mild worry  and
concern.

'And that, of course, is the reason for my visit.'

Haemer stiffened. 'Oh?'

'I must plan my economy, my strategy,  as if some sort of possibly  long
lasting interregnum has  occurred,' Redruth said.  'I don't know  what's
happened with the Confederation... certainly there were reports of civil
unrest  and  even  systems withdrawing  from  its  umbrella before  this
strange silence.

'But I'm a man  of action, not thought,  so my plans are  simple-I stand
alone, and must guarantee peace and security to my people. I've begun  a
significant shipbuilding program, and will need additional ores, which I
propose to procure... purchase... from the Cumbre system.'

Haemer relaxed slightly. 'Good,' he said. 'Obviously, being cut off from
the Confederation  has done  our metals  trade no  good whatsoever.  I'm
delighted  you've  decided  to  increase  your  quota,  and  our  mining
corporations should have no trouble meeting any requirements.'

'I didn't think there would  be a problem,' Redruth said.  'However, I'm
concerned about the Musth.'

'In what way?'

'I know well their ambitions,' Redruth said. 'They aspire to control the
universe, a step at a time,  and I was afraid that, with  their learning
the Confederation no longer stands  behind us, they might become,  shall
we say, ambitious.'

'I've been worried about the same  thing,' Haemer said. 'But as yet  our
relations continue cordial.'

'Perhaps,'  Celidon  said, 'we  might  offer increased  security  to the
Cumbre system, since you have  no naval capabilities and we  do. Perhaps
we might think of stationing half a dozen of our ships on D-Cumbre.  I'm
sure the system's  resources would be  sufficient to fund  them, and the
citizens would be grateful.'

Haemer's mouth was dry. He considered his response carefully.

'Thank you  for the  offer,' Caud  Williams said  smoothly before Haemer
spoke. 'It's magnificent seeing fellow humans jump to our aid. But  your
presence might well  trigger the response  we all fear.'  There wasn't a
trace of sarcasm detectable in his speech.

'I don't follow,' Celidon snapped, but Redruth was nodding thoughtfully.

'Just this,'  Williams continued.  'The Musth,  as you  point out, are a
very ambitious species. They think  their presence in the Cumbre  system
is justified, and would, I'm very sure, be delighted to increase it.  In
fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they would like total domination of  at
least this planet and its resources.

'If Larix and Kura suddenly  show an increased military presence  in the
Cumbre system, that  might serve to  tip the balance,  and give some  of
their more aggressive warlords reason to exacerbate the situation.'

'What of it?' Celidon said scornfully. 'Certainly you're not  suggesting
these aliens  are superior  to Man,  are you?  We've never  stepped back
before  any challenge,  and sure  as hell  can't start  now. All  beasts
recognize fear, which gives them reason to attack.'

'The Musth are hardly beasts,' Williams said.

Celidon shrugged. 'They aren't human... I need no other description.'

Haemer  stepped  into  the  silence.  'My  military  commander  makes an
excellent point,' he said. 'Any incident, here on the frontiers of Man's
expansion,  might  well  spark  war,  and  without  the  possibility  of
reinforcement from  the Confederation,  that might  prove disastrous.  I
include Larix and Kura in my assessment.'

Celidon snorted disbelief. Redruth nodded. 'You have a point,' he  said.
'So  let us  consider the  details of  our new  trading agreement.  That
should be more than enough.

'For the time being, at least.'



CHAPTER 23

'Well, Mary dipped in  creosote,' Njangu Yoshitaro exclaimed.  'Just who
do you know... or blow?'

'Rather  attractive, ain't  it?' Garvin  said, smugly  admiring the  two
stripes of a/in/on his sleeve. 'Nice  to see that Strike Force Lit  Twit
is finally recognizing its best.'

'Talk to me, little white  brother,' Njangu growled. 'Or I'll  smite the
living hell outa thee.'

Nganju whistled  when Garvin  told him  about Celidon,  had him stop the
story, found Petr, and had Garvin start all over.

'Oh boy,' Kipchak said.  'So Redruth's got big  eyes for Cumbre, eh?  It
sure never  shits, but  it pours  all right.  Musth to  the front of us,
'Raum to the left, Redruth's  bullies to the right, and  frigging nobody
to  cover  our young  rears.  Oh dear,  oh  dear, oh  my  spectacles and
gloves.'

'I  got  a  question, Garvin,'  Nganju  said.  'Everybody's bustin'  ass
getting ready to go to the field to haunt the wild 'Raum, and you've got
time to flaunt your newly striped young butt around. In a word, howcum?'

'Six hours off,  reward from Alt  Wu, my lovable  and never sufficiently
blessed platoon leader.  With permission to  honk into civilization  for
those six hours.'

'But you had to  come all the way  to I&R to rub  it in on your  ex-best
friend, eh?'

Garvin's smile vanished. He looked  pointedly at Petr, who inclined  his
head in understanding. 'Private business,  eh? Thanks for coming by  and
telling me, Garvin.  I always need  something new to  brood about.' Petr
went back into the squad bay.

''Kay,' Yoshitaro said. 'What's whupping?'

'Wanted to ask you about options.'

'What sort?'

'The sort that we don't appear to have, Njangu. Look. I joined the  army
because... because things were  getting a little interesting.  I figured
I'd give it an  honest straight shot, get  out after one term,  and have
those certain problems half a goddamned galaxy away.'

'And I joined because a judge  was going to fry my brain  otherwise. How
come you've always been so close-mouthed about what happened?'

'That doesn't  matter right  now... and  stick to  the subject,  dammit.
Anyway. I never figured I'd end up out back of God's behind, and I  sure
as hell didn't plan on the goddamned Confederation doing a vanishing act
on me,' Garvin said.

'Nor me,' Njangu  confessed. 'I was  sort of hoping  to get a  nice soft
assignment somewhere close to Centrum where I could shuffle stage  right
at the proper moment and continue doing what I was doing before.  Except
this time without  getting caught. Or,  if I couldn't  manage that, like
you, finishing  one term  and having  a clean  record to  counterbalance
future villainies.

'It looks, now that you brought it up,' he went on, 'like both of us are
a little light on controlling what comes next. If that's what you  meant
by options.'

'It was,' Garvin said. 'You got any brilliant ideas?'

'Mmmh,' Yoshitaro said. 'We stick around here, somebody's liable to blow
our silly fool heads down around our butts.'

'Right.'

'Things  don't  appear like  they're  going to  get  any more  peaceful,
either,' he said.

'Right again, I'm pretty sure,' Garvin agreed.

'So that leaves three options,' Njangu said. 'We could buy our way out.'

'You know anybody with money?' Garvin asked.

'Nope, so  that's dead,  unless you  find a  Real Friend  with your  new
comrades up there in the Heights. Option two- desert.'

'To who?'

'Shit, I dunno. I'm thinking out loud. It'd be pretty hard to  disappear
into Leggett, even if  I don't think the  Force'd look for us  too hard.
But there doesn't appear,  at least from the  outside, to be any  really
good rogueries for somebody like me to disappear into. You could  always
do  some  fine  gambling  to  pay  the  rent.  Maybe  I  should  be your
bodyguard.'

'Gambling don't cut it,' Garvin said. 'Not on a long-range basis. Sooner
or later some bastard figures out  you're better than he is, and  always
hold  the  aces,   and  so  he   breaks  your  thumbs   out  of  general
dissatisfaction. Hard to deal seconds with busted finger bones.'

'Sounds like you know for sure,' Njangu said casually.

'Stop digging,' Garvin warned. 'Some day I'll tell you. Anyway, not only
can gambling get dangerous, but everybody I know who chased the speckled
cubes sooner or later started  betting on something else that  he didn't
know squat about, and lost his shorts.'

'So deserting for a life of crime doesn't appear too good,' Njangu said.
'We could  sleaze our  way to  another island,  and actually  work for a
living.' He  shuddered slightly.  'I know  a village  where we  could go
fishing.'

'That really thrums a string deep within,' Garvin said sarcastically.

'With the exception of a  certain girl-child, it doesn't,' Njangu  said.
'What about  you? You've  been swinging  around with  the rich. Anything
there?'

'Not yet,' Garvin said.  'But I'm going into  Leggett in a few  minutes.
Maybe  something'll  develop. That's  a  very thin  maybe.  But so  far,
nothing.'  He  thought. 'We  could  always see  if  the bandits  need  a
training cadre.'

'Not bright,' Njangu  said. 'Maybe we're  a bunch of  clonk-heads at the
moment, but sooner or  later we'll get moves.  When we do I'd  rather be
looking down the sights than be looked at.'

'True.' Garvin sighed. 'So what do we do? Just soldier on?'

'That's  the  best  I can  think  of,  right now,'  Njangu  said,  a bit
disconsolately. 'You know, since I've always thought of myself as a dude
with an eye for the main chance, you've just managed to depress me.'

'I managed to  depress myself,' Garvin  said. 'Guess we'll  just have to
keep thinking.'

'Guess so,' Njangu  said. 'There's got  to be something.  And thanks for
dropping by, Fw/Jaansma.'

'My pleasure. Striker'Yoshitaro.'


Garvin was pacing  back and forth  outside Leggett Station,  looking for
Jasith's little red lifter. He  paid little attention to the  long black
antigrav lim that slid up beside  the curb, other than a mildly  envious
stare until the side door lifted, and Jasith leaned out.

'Garvin,' she called. 'Over here.' She didn't sound happy.

Garvin, with  thoughts of  lim backseats  dancing in  his head,  hurried
over. He started to  bend over for a  kiss, got a swift,  tiny headshake
no.

'Garvin, I'd like you to meet my father,' she said. The tall, bluff  man
sitting beside her in the back leaned over, holding out a hand.

'Godrevy Mellusin,'  he said.  'Jasith said  you had  a short  pass into
town, and neither of  you had specific plans,  so I thought it  might be
appropriate for me to buy you dinner.'

Garvin was very pleased with himself  for not spreading his arms to  the
heavens, and bellowing, 'Why frigging me alia goddamned time. God! All I
wanted was some  frigging flower petals!'  Instead, he shook  Mellusin's
hand with a firm, manly gesture.

'It's the  least I  could do  for anyone  who saved  our lives two weeks
ago,' Mellusin said. 'Besides, I wanted to meet my daughter's young man.
I remembered  when I  was young,  with strong  appetites but  nothing to
satisfy them with, and thought I might help.'

Garvin  couldn't  tell if  there  was a  twinkle  of slightly  malicious
amusement in Mellusin's eye. 'Get in, lad,' he said. 'I've already  made
arrangements at the club.'

'Sorry,' Jasith whispered as he got in. 'I got mouse-trapped.'


Garvin, in his travels,  had eaten at a  couple of exclusive clubs,  and
shuddered at the thought of a third. Not only wasn't he going to have  a
romantic evening, but  he was going  to be fed  a dinner slightly  worse
than the mess-hall meal he'd passed on back at Camp Mahan.

But he ate liver-and-nut pate with  consomme; a roast with a tart  berry
stuffing and mustard  sauce; a red,  astringent vegetable; a  warm salad
with hot bacon and a  sweetish brandy dressing; and a  chocolate souffle
with vanilla  sauce for  dessert. Before  that, Mellusin  had summonec a
waiter, and asked if there was any of the Earth Taittinger left. The man
grudged there were a few cases.

After the man had left, Mellusin shook his head. 'Most som-meliers think
they own the cellar or at any  rate are paid on its size, not  for their
service. Sad.'

'Earth champagne?' Garvin said.  'I'm not sure a  one-stripe promotion's
worth it.'

'Anything's worth  champagne, Garvin,'  Godrevy said.  'At my  age, just
having survived another night's enough. Still, I suppose we're going  to
have to  think about  that, what  with the  present situation. The local
fizzy grape's only fit for shoe polish.' He turned serious. 'What do you
think about losing contact with the Confederation?'

'I don't know anything, sir,' Garvin said. 'But I don't like it.'

'Who does?' Jasith said.  'No new fashions, gossip,  celebrities, music,
holos... we might as well be living in a vacuum.'

'We are, my dear,' her father said.

'You know what I mean,' Jasith said.

'Sometimes I think my daughter  wants me to believe she's  an airbrain,'
Mellusin said. 'It'd make me more vulnerable.'

Jasith laughed. 'Now you're onto me.'

The champagne  came, was  uncorked, tasted,  pronounced acceptable,  and
poured around; then the dinner began arriving.

'Since you  avoided my  question, Garvin,'  Mellusin said,  'let me  ask
another. What's your  opinion of Protector  Redruth's visit? Don't  look
startled. I  know about  most things  that happen  in this  system a few
seconds after they occur. The  Mel-lusins are among the Rentiers,  after
all.'

'I'm not sure I should say anything, sir,' Garvin said. 'Most everything
that happened recently is classified, I'm pretty sure.'

'Careful, aren't you? I notice you didn't even admit to Redruth's  being
here.'

'Yes sir.'

'Most people your age can't wait to make sure everyone knows they've got
a secret, if they have one.'

'I learned better some time ago.'

Mellusin waited, but Garvin didn't  explain. 'Well,' the man said,  'I'm
not at all pleased. He shows  up on C-Cumbre, meets with Haemer  and his
staff for half a planetary day, then returns to Larix/Kura. No banquets,
no ceremonial visits to D-Cumbre, no coms with any of the people he  met
when he was here last.

'Such as myself,' Mellusin added. 'I  do not like that at all.  Since he
went to  C-Cumbre, his  visit must  have had  something to  do with  the
system's minerals. Yet he made no contact with me, and I own one of  the
larger mining  establishments... even  after the  sabotage a  few months
ago. That I find worrisome. Wouldn't you?'

'I suppose so, sir,' Garvin said. 'This roast is really excellent, isn't
it?'

'Very well. I give up, Finf Clam,' Mellusin said. 'Your young man has  a
great deal of discretion.'

Jasith giggled, remembering Loy Kouro's swimming lesson.

'What's so funny?'

'Nothing, Father.'

'Very  well...  I'll  now  look  for  a  completely  neutral  topic   of
conversation. As an offworider, what do you think of D-Cumbre, Garvin?'

'Interesting.'

'What planet are you from?'

'Various, sir. My people traveled a great deal.'

'What line were they in?'

'Promotion, sir. Family entertainment.'

'Very interesting. And you chose not to follow them in the same field?'

'I did for a time, sir,' Garvin said. 'But circumstances changed, and  I
decided to enlist in the army.'

'Not a  bad idea,'  Mellusin said.  'I've often  wondered what  would've
happened if I'd chosen the colors instead of what I did. And so you were
sent here, to the edge of nothing.'

'So far,'  Garvin said,  'I like  Cumbre.' He  gave Jasith  a meaningful
look, and was  rewarded when she  slipped her foot  out of her  shoe and
rubbed it up and down his inner thigh, hidden by the table's long cloth.

'Good,' Mellusin  approved. 'There's  a place  on the  frontiers for  an
ambitious young woman or man.'

'As a matter of fact,' Garvin said, 'a friend of mine and I were talking
about that very idea this evening. Assuming I take my discharge here  on
D-Cumbre after one term, what might my options be?'

Jasith slid her bare foot into Garvin's lap, began moving her toes.

'I noticed you know which  fork to use... and I've  already complimented
you on your discretion,' Mellusin said. 'That would make you  distinctly
employable with one of the Rentier firms. For instance, Mellusin  Mining
could always use a good man in security.'

Garvin nodded. 'Actually, I think, by the time I finish with the  Strike
Force, my fascination with being shot at will be a thing of the past.'

Mellusin smiled. 'Ambition is well rewarded here,' he said. 'As I assume
you've noted, D-Cumbre has its own class system.'

'So I've seen,' Garvin said, his voice flat.

'Some say it's the natural order of things,' Mellusin said.

'I've noted that as well.'

'Garvin was the one who had  the, uh, encounter with Loy Kouro,'  Jasith
said,  then looked  at the  two men  questioningly, unsure  whether  she
should've said anything.

'You're the one who toppled that young fool into the lily pond?'

'I was, sir. But there was provocation.'

'With Kouro  there generally  is, just  as there  generally is  with his
father. They're both idiots. I assume he was running his mouth about the
natural  inferiority of  the 'Raum,  and how  anyone around  him was  an
obvious Superior Being?'

'He was, sir. With  a 'Raum standing beside  him. I thought that  was in
fairly poor taste.'

'That,' Mellusin said, 'is the reason people get waylaid in dark alleys.
I've warned him to keep his opinions to himself, or at least voice  them
in front  of the  right people  or save  them for  the ed-pin section of
Matin.  But he  won't. One  hopes he  learns discretion  before  someone
teaches it to him, in a more painful manner than you did.

'As I was saying, there is a class system here on D-Cumbre, and has been
since shortly after the first  colonists arrived, opened the mines,  and
the 'Raum  showed up  a bit  later and  began working  them for us. Most
people, from  top to  bottom, like  things the  way they are-comfortably
ordered.  The  human race  becomes  unsettled when  it's  unsure of  its
future, and it's the task of a natural leader to guide it carefully.  Is
something the matter, Garvin?'

Jaansma was sweating gently-Jasith's toes were moving in his crotch, and
she was barely suppressing her glee. 'Nothing, sir. A bit warm in here.'

Mellusin nodded  for a  waiter, told  the man  to increase  the overhead
fan's  speed.  While  his  attention  was  turned  away,  Garvin pinched
Jasith's big toe. She hid a yelp, pulled her foot down.

'Now,' Mellusin said. 'Where were we?'

'You were explaining why the  Rentiers were the rightful masters  of the
Cumbre system,' Garvin said.

Mellusin looked  sharply at  Garvin, was  met with  an open,  interested
expression.


'Come on, Garvin,' Jasith said. 'They've called your shuttle.'

'Coming,' he said, stepping carefully out of the lim, aware he was  just
a  little  drunk.   'Thank  you  for   dinner,  and  an...   interesting
conversation, sir.'

'Thank  you,'  Mellusin  said.  'I enjoyed  meeting  you,  and,  like my
daughter,  am  a bit  impressed.  Come back  and  see us  again,  Garvin
Jaansma.'

'Thank you, sir. And I shall see you again.'

'Come on,' Jasith  shouted, and Garvin  trotted toward her.  He eyed the
schedule flashing on the board.

'I thought  you said  the shuttle  was leaving.  I've still  got fifteen
minutes.'

'And I wanted to  kiss you, dummy. That  ought to take at  least fifteen
minutes, unless you want to go back and gibber some more with my daddy.'

'Nope. Let's find  a nice secluded  corner. But you  know what I  really
want to do?' He leaned close, whispered.

'Garvin Jaansma! Such language!'

'Just wanted to make sure there wasn't any confusion about what we might
think about doing next time around.'

'Talk like that  certainly prevents confusion,'  Jasith said, trying  to
pretend shock. 'Here's what I'd like to do.' In turn, she whispered.

'Great gods,' Garvin said. 'I didn't know rich girls talked like that!'

'We do,' she  said throatily. 'And  you should see  what we do  with our
mouths when we're not talking. That's even more shocking.'



CHAPTER 24

Alt Jav Hofzeiger felt a little  like crying. No one... not his  revered
retired-Haut father back on Mauren VI, not his instructors at  Centrum's
Military Institute, not  even his fellow  junior officers, had  told him
combat would be like this.

Combat... for their blasters were fully loaded, the orbiting Zhukovs and
Griersons high overhead carried live missiles and rounds, and his orders
were  to kill  any armed  man or  woman who  refused a  single shout  to
surrender.

Combat... but he hadn't seen anyone to shoot at, let alone anyone  worth
shooting at.  Just ignorant  hill-dwellers, completely  perplexed at his
questions, who didn't  even seem to  know where on  the map their  lousy
little villages were.

Three coms shouted questions and  orders at him and each  other, carried
by  three sweating  troops who'd  been riflemen  or -women  before  this
patrol.

One  com:  'Assegai Delta  Deuce,  this is  Assegai  Delta... give  your
present  map  locations  please...' Assegai  Delta  was  Fourth Infantry
Regiment's Commanding  Officer, a  bluff man  he'd respected  until this
nightmare began. Mil Fran Whitley.

Hofzeiger was Assegai Delta Deuce-Fourth Infantry, Delta Company, Second
Platoon, commanding seventeen other infantrymen.

Another  com:  'Assegai  Delta  Deuce, this  is  Delta  Six...  come on,
Hofzeiger. I've got your Bravo element on visual, and they're  separated
from your line of march. Suggest you take up a defensive perimeter until
they join the main force, over.' Delta Six was Delta Company  Commander,
Cent Theresa Rivers, and at least all she sounded was harried. Hofzeiger
thought  she  was a  damned  good officer,  if  a little  too  eager. He
realized his men would say the same about him, at least the eager part.

'Assegai Delta Deuce,  this is Lance  Six. Why are  you moving so  slow?
Imperative you complete ordered day's sweep on sked... you are at  least
four kilometers  behind projected  march... blip  your present location,
over.' Lance Six was God-Caud Jochim Williams, orbiting just overhead in
his Cooke.  Rivers was  in a  Grierson, and  the Regimental Commander in
another Cooke.

Three levels of command were  riding close herd on this  patrol, ordered
to sweep the reaches from the coastal lowlands of Dharma Island into the
ominous, unpopulated,  and fog-hung  Highlands. II  Section-Strike Force
Intelligence-said the  '.Raum hid  out on  these slopes,  oppressing the
rural farmers  and requiring  them to  provide food,  shelter, and fresh
recruits at gunpoint.  But there'd been  no bandits so  far, nothing but
the endless yammer  of Hofzeiger's officers  since he'd off-loaded  from
his Grierson before dawn, far downslope.

He wanted to grab all three mikes and scream shut up, give him a  moment
to  think, a  moment to  try to  find where  he was  on the   completely
inaccurate  map  which  he  wasn't  even  sure  was  of  Dharma  Island,
regardless of the  legend, a  moment to  get his  platoon rested  and re
formed. Dammit, he  wasn't a bad  officer... maybe not  the best in  the
regiment but always with SUPERIOR ratings, and they weren't giving him a
chance to prove himself.

One com-carrier eyed Hofzeiger with sympathy-the alt wasn 't a bad  guy,
and these dickheads up in the sky had no idea of what it was like to  be
down here in the slime on a forty-five-degree slope of sticky, wet  clay
trying to keep from sliding all the way back down to the ocean, glimpsed
longingly  in  the  distance now  and  again,  rain-soaked, pack  straps
digging into shoulders, waist, back,  blaster weighing half a kilo  more
each  step  you  took,  goddamned  vines  pulling,  whipping, thombushes
clawing, and strange noises in the brush just out of sight.

No idea at all.

'Level  ground,' the  man ahead  of a  com operator  whispered, as   per
orders, although  why quiet  was important  with the  drive roar  of the
aircraft overhead and the chatter on the coms was beyond anyone.  'Level
ground,' the operator obediently told Hofzeiger, who nodded dumbly, then
remembered his own orders, and  passed word back down the  column, wiped
sweat, and reached  for the com  to Williams, figuring  he was the  most
important.

'Lance Six, this is Assegai Delta Deuce, blipping... map not accurate...
terrain nearly impassable... cutting our way as we go... over.'

'Delta Deuce, this is Lance. I did not ask for excuses, soldier!  Follow
my orders, or I'll have someone down there who will!'

Hofzeiger wanted  to swear,  but just  clicked his  mike twice-  message
received. Another whisper came down: 'Village ahead. Occupied. Six up.'

'Son of  a bitch,'  Hofzeiger muttered.  'Another one  that isn't on the
map.'

He keyed  the mike.  'Lance, this  is Delta  Deuce. Stand  by. We have a
village to clear.' He repeated the message into the other two coms. 'Six
coming up,' he whispered  back, and pushed his  way up the track  they'd
been slashing through the  undergrowth. His com operators  started after
him, then Hofzeiger had a wonderful idea. 'You three maintain  position.
I'm doing a personal recon.'

The  first com  man grinned-not  bad. If  Hofzeiger wasn't  there to  be
shouted at, he couldn't be shouted at, now could he?

Hofzeiger's platoon sergeant, Tweg Adeon,  was waiting on the edge  of a
scrubby cornfield.  Ahead was  the village-a  scatter of  huts around  a
central square, a  single large public  com sheltered by  a round wooden
canopy, a  half-domed prefab  building with  peeling paint  that was the
STORE; and a long open-sided shed that would serve as the village social
center, pub, and meeting place.

'See any hostiles?' Hofzeiger asked.

Adeon shook  his head.  'Two kids,  one scrawny  woman who  looked about
thirty-six months pregnant, two  giptels. No goblins. Goddamned  village
doesn't look like it'd support more'n one bandit, and he'd have to  take
his loot in corncobs.'

The giptel was a mostly domesticated native of D-Cumbre, and served  the
hillside peasants as pet, watch  animal, and dinner, its white  porklike
flesh frequently the only meat, other than game, these poor people would
see. Chickens had been imported  with the original settlers, but  became
an  instant  favorite  for the  planet's  small  two-legged snake-bodied
predators known as stobor.

Hofzeiger saw  a man  peer out  of a  hut, duck  back inside. 'They know
we're out here,' he said. 'Bring the patrol up, skirmish line, and we'll
sweep the village. Adeon,  you and I'll see  if that peekaboo son  knows
anything.'

'And,' Adeon muttered, 'if he's willing to tell it to us.'

Fifteen minutes later, the platoon  had gone through the village,  found
nothing except twenty-six scared peasants: children, women, and old men.
That  should  have triggered  an  alarm from  experienced  soldiers, but
Hofzeiger was thinking of other matters. All three coms were alive  with
questions from the overhead brass, trying to find out what was going on,
if the  patrol had  found anything,  what disposition  was being made of
this, that, and the other. Hofzeiger ignored their yammering, and  asked
the villager he'd prodded out at gunpoint his name.

'Eichere,' the man said reluctantly.

'And what's the name of this village?'

'It doesn't have one,' Eichere said. 'We just call it the village.'

'Cosmopolitan son here,' one of the com operators said.

'Quiet,' Hofzeiger ordered. 'Are there any bandits in this area?'

'Bandits? I don't know what you mean.'

'Men with  guns. Men  who refuse  to obey  the government's laws,' Adeon
said impatiently.

'The only men with guns I've seen are you,' Eichere said. 'I don't  know
if you obey the laws or not.'

'Kick the bastard a  few dozen times,' a  finf said. 'Bein' funny's  not
one of his available options.'

Hofzeiger  glared at  the noncom,  went back  to Eichere.  Half a  dozen
villagers came up, cautiously, watching, listening.

'Are you sure there aren't any bandits?'

Eichere compressed his lips, looked away, nodded.

'He's lying,' a woman said. The woman was in her early thirties,  looked
a little less  work-hammered than the  others, and her  rags were a  bit
cleaner and mended.

'Who're you?'

'Balcha is my name.'

'You've seen bandits?'

'Of course,' she said. 'We all have. But he... and the others... are too
scared to say anything.'

'Why? We'll protect you from them.'

'At night?' Eichere said cynically. 'You'll come back from your city  to
make sure they don't burn my hut... with me inside it?'

'You're a coward, Eichere,' Balcha  said scornfully. 'We must trust  the
government.'

Eichere snorted.

'Where do the bandits go?' Hofzeiger demanded.

'They use the trail that goes from there'-she pointed to the farside  of
the village-'up toward the Highlands, or so I was told. They have a camp
not far from here.'

'A camp?'

'Yes, sir,' she said.

'Could you take us there?'

Balcha hesitated.

'I will pay you,' Hofzeiger said eagerly.

'No,' she said. 'I will take no  money. But if I take you to  them, will
you kill them all? Then we can be safe.'

'I will only kill those who resist me,' Hofzeiger said. 'The others will
be arrested and taken to the city for trial, and punishment.'

'But they will never come back to our village?'

'No,' Hofzeiger said firmly.

'Then follow me. It is about... two, perhaps three hours from here.' She
started toward the path.

'Wait, Balcha,' Hofzeiger said. 'I must report this to my leaders.'


Twenty minutes later, Balcha, who was walking just behind the point man,
hesitated at a split  in the trail. 'This  way,' she said, not  sounding
sure of herself.

'Great,' a striker  whispered. 'Another far-traveler.  Gets lost half  a
klick from home.'

A few minutes  later, she stopped  beside a two-meter-tall  mound of mud
built by the industrious insects the Cumbrians called ants. She  puzzled
a moment, then  turned to Alt  Hofzeiger, who was  just behind her  with
Tweg Adeon and the three com operators. 'I think I am leading us in  the
wrong direction. Let me  go back to that  turning and look at  it again.
Can I have one man to keep me safe?'

Hofzeiger growled under  his breath, caught  the eye of  one striker who
hadn't looked away fast  enough. 'Habr. Go back  with her.' He held  out
his hand, and a com operator slapped a mike into it. 'The boss is  gonna
love this,' he muttered. 'Delta Six, this is Assegai Delta Deuce...'


Balcha waited until she and Habr  were just around a bend in  the trail,
stumbled, went to her knees. Habr knelt to help her, grunted, and stared
in shock  at the  knife handle  sticking out  of his  solar plexus, just
below his ballistic  combat vest. His  face wizened in  agony, then went
blank, and he collapsed. The  woman who'd called herself Balcha  put two
fingers in her mouth, whistled.


Up  ahead, concealed  in the  brush about  five meters  from the  trail,
Comstock Brien heard the whistle, nodded to the man with the small  plas
box with a single button. The man unlocked the box, pressed the button.


The abandoned anthill had been hurriedly dug out from the rear when  the
Fourth's patrol was seen dismounting from its Grierson. Broken  bottles,
rusty nails, and other debris from the village dump were packed  against
the  hill's inside  wall, then  two hundred  kilos of  mining  explosive
added. Some  of the  explosive came  from the  raid on  C-Cumbre, months
earlier.   Two  radio-controlled   detonators  were   inserted  in   the
explosives, and wet clay tamped to seal the hole.

The blast vaporized  Alt Hofzeiger, his  com operators, the  rest of the
command group, and six  of the other twelve  men and women. Half  of the
survivors were  down, screaming,  moaning in  pain, and  others were  in
stunned shock, staring at red-rain-drenched bodies.

Brien  shouted, and  thirty men  and women  burst out  of their   hiding
places, and a ragged volley  from sporting rifles and shotguns  blasted.
There were only two still making sounds, mewling like wounded kittens as
they squirmed. Brien  shot one with  his pistol, and  a woman shotgunned
the other two. 'Quickly,' he ordered. 'Take weapons, boots, everything.'

A woman  rolled a  young soldier  over, saw  her chest  move, lifted her
archaic rifle. 'No,'  the soldier whispered.  'Please.' The rifle  fired
once.

One com unit had, freakishly, survived the blast.

'Delta Deuce, Delta Deuce, this is  Delta Six. What the hell's going  on
down there? Delta Deuce, respond at once.'

'Take that, too,' Brien ordered. 'Our Task is easier when we can  listen
to them.'

Balcha  trotted around  the bend.  'Good,' Brien  complimented her.  She
nodded thanks, knelt over a body, and unfastened its combat harness.

'Is  there anyone  in the  village who  tried to  collaborate with   the
giptelsf' he asked.

'No,' she said. 'They are well trained. We need punish no one.'

Four minutes  later, there  was nothing  on the  trail but  twelve naked
bodies.


Caud Williams stepped out of his Cooke, walked slowly from the  clearing
that'd been hastily  carved out of  the jungle to  the ambush site.  The
last of the corpses were being slid into body bags. Cent Rivers, Delta's
Commanding Officer,  sat on  an uprooted  tree, head  in her hands. Cent
Angara met him, saluted.

'Don't do that,' Williams said. 'We're in a combat zone!'

'Sorry, sir,' Angara said. 'I was thinking about... other things.'

Williams nodded, stared down the trail.  'Do you have any idea how  many
casualties these brave  soldiers were able  to inflict before  they were
overrun?'

'None, sir. No blood trails, no blood patches at all.'

'They must've cleaned up before they fled, the bastards,' Williams said.
'Very well, then, we'll have to make an educated estimate.'

'Sir?'

'How many bandits do you think they were able to take with them?'

'Sir, there was no sign of any enemy casualties,' Angara said.

'It's impossible for me to believe women and men that I trained  weren't
able to fight  back,' Williams said  firmly. 'And do  you have any  idea
what would  happen to  morale if  we were  to tell  the men of the Force
their fellows were helplessly  butchered where they stood?'  Angara said
nothing. 'Very well,' Williams  said. 'Eighteen of our  people killed...
probably they were able to take  at least one with them. The  unit diary
will give the casualties as twenty-one probable kills, fifteen wounded.'

Angara still was silent.

'I assume you heard me, Centi'

'Yessir,'  Angara  said. 'Twenty-one  probable  kills, fifteen  wounded.
Sir.'

Williams stared, and Angara looked away.

'What about the village?'

'I've sent two  interrogation teams in.  So far, nobody  knows anything.
The woman who said she wanted to  help came to the village just as  they
heard the sounds  of our landing,  and said they'd  treat her as  one of
them, or be  very, very sorry,  and anything she  said, they must  agree
with.  Most of  their young  men have  already joined  the bandits.  The
villagers said they were  forced to go. I'm  not sure that's the  truth.
They've got  no idea  where the  bandits came  from, no  idea where they
went, how many there are, or anything else.'

'Very well,' Williams said. 'Carry on.'

He took a deep breath, went over and sat down beside Rivers. She  lifted
her  head,  and Williams  saw  the tear  streaks.  'You make  them  into
soldiers... and  then you  lose them,'  he said  gently. 'That's the way
it's always been. The first time's always the hardest.'

'Jav... Alt Hofzeiger  was one of  my best,' she  said. 'I'd recommended
him for the next Cent  Board. Now...' She blinked, swallowed  very hard.
'They murdered my whole platoon, Caud. They shot Fm/Zelen in the face...
she would've lived, if we could've gotten her evacked in time. But...'

Her voice trailed off.

'Come on,  Theresa,' Williams  said. 'There's  almost one  hundred sixty
people still alive. They're depending on you.'

'I know. I just hope there'll be some way to make them pay for this.'

'There will be,' Williams said firmly.

Rivers looked at a dark,  drying stain. Her lips compressed.  'Yes, sir.
Someone will pay. Soon.'

Two nights later, a Grierson grounded gently about half a kilometer from
the village, just at last light. Twenty-five men and women, wearing dark
coveralls, faces and hands darkened,  got out. They carried pistols  and
fighting knives.  All were  volunteers. It  was fairly  dim-only the two
smaller moons, Pen-with and Bodwin, were out.

They gathered around  Cent Rivers. She  drew her knife,  held it up.  'I
want everybody  on D-Cumbre  to know  the Force  never forgets... and we
always punish murderers. And everybody  in that village is guilty.  I'll
take point.'

She sheathed her knife, and the twenty-five filed off, into the  jungle,
toward the village.


'Did you hear the skinny?' Garvin said.

'I heard,' a glum Njangu said.

'Which version?'

'Both,' Yoshitaro said. 'Matin claims  the 'Raum outlaws did it  because
one of the  villagers must' ve  given us some  good intelligence. That's
the official word.'

'And you know that's bullshit.'

'I know.'

'Damn, but that'll teach 'em,' Garvin enthused. 'Mess with the bull, and
you get the horns. How many did they kill?'

'About forty,' Njangu said. 'Mostly women and kids.'

'I heard Cent Rivers led the raid in person.'

'I heard the same thing,' Njangu said.

'So  what're you  so gloomy  about? That'll  put a  chill in  all  those
illegal settlements out there. Teach 'em they can't play on both sides.'

'Garvin,' Njangu said tiredly, 'come on, man. Think.'

'Think what? That's the way to run things. They kill one of us, we  kill
a dozen of them. That'll teach them not to be aidin' and abetting.'

'It'll  teach  them,  all  right,'  Njangu  said.  'Teach  them  to   be
guerrillas.'

Garvin stared at his friend. 'How do you figure?'

'Real  simple,'  Njangu  said.  'First,  think  about  things  from  the
villagers' perspective. We come through  for half an hour, then  go back
to this island. The 'Raum live next door. The villagers can add...  half
an E-hour for us, twenty-six and a half for them to get even.'

'Yeah,' Garvin nodded.

'So if you were a villager, and you wanted to stay a live villager,  who
would you be more polite to?'

'I guess the 'Raum,' Garvin said reluctantly.

'Now, we've  started patrolling  the hills.  We're going  to bring  law,
order, and justice, right? So the first thing we do, when a patrol  gets
shot up,  is send  out a  death squad  and obliterate  the village. Fine
court of law  there, and a  really good way  to get people  to love you,
last time I heard.'

'Who said we were supposed to be loved? That's why they gave us guns.'

'Hide and watch,  my friend,' Yoshitaro  said. 'Every dirt-gobbler  that
was  wondering   about  things,   after  that   dumb  bitch   created  a
slaughterhouse, shouldn't have  much trouble making  up his mind.  Which
side would you pick if you were out there?' Njangu finished.

'Shit,'  Garvin said.  He slumped  down on  Njangu's bunk.  'I wasn   't
thinking.'

'It doesn't look like anybody is,' Njangu said. 'And I'll bet they don't
start now. Williams  can't court-martial Rivers,  even if he  wanted to.
Which is  going to  set a  real fine  example for  the next  idiot who's
standing there with a gun in his hand, pissed off because his bunkie got
his head shot off.'

'I guess you're right.'

'I know I'm right,' Njangu said.

'How'd you get to be so damned smart?' Garvin asked.

'I'm not smart, I'm cunning,'  Njangu explained. 'Cops can make  all the
mistakes in the world. Crooks only get to make one.'

'So I'd better leave the thinking to you from here on out?'

Garvin said.

'Might be  safer. And  I'll make  you another  prediction. This  batshit
won't stop anything.  There'll be more  patrols hit, and  pretty soon we
won't go into the hills at all in anything other than company  strength.
And then they'll start sniping at us while we waddle through the jungle,
grinding us down one by one.'

'You're sure a cheery bastard,' Jaansma said. 'I am that.' Njangu  said.
He put down the sight he'd been carefully cleaning, grabbed his cap from
the end of  his bunk. 'Come  on. I'll let  you buy me  a beer and  maybe
that'll make me into  a laughing idiot like  the rest of this  murderous
goddamned Strike Force.'


An assault team  was wiped out  three days later,  and, four days  after
that, HQ Honor  Guard was almost  sucked into an  ambush making a  sweep
five kilometers beyond the Heights.

Less than half a dozen 'Raum were confirmed killed, although the claimed
body  count was  ninety, and  only seven  had been  captured. About  six
villages were cleared as suspected 'Raum strongholds, and another  dozen
razed after weapons or other banned materials were found.

Caud Williams announced a  change in tactics-henceforth the  Force would
patrol in company-sized elements, remaining in the jungle for up to five
days, being resupplied  from the air  while hiving smaller  units off on
close-range sweeps. 'Once  these small patrols  locate the bandits,'  he
said, 'it'll be a simple matter either to smash them from the air or hit
them hard  with the  main force.  Another advantage  we have,  and one I
propose to  exploit to  the fullest,  is our  command of  the air. These
bandits will become like field mice, always looking over their  shoulder
for the hawk... and I guarantee it'll be there.

'This campaign should last no more  than another month or two before  we
bring peace to the hills.'


'I've decided,' Garvin said gloomily, 'God... or the gods... hate me.'

'Why?' Jasith asked. 'And why is the pickup so spotty?'

''Cause I'm  calling from  the public  line outside  our orderly  room,'
Jaansma explained, 'and  there's about a  kazillion taps on  the line to
make sure I don't say anything  classified. There's also a delay in  the
transmission, I think.  Not that I  would say anything  I'm not supposed
to. Hell, I don't know anything classified.'

'So why are you so hated by gods and such? You got a chance to call  me,
didn't you,' Jasith asked.

'That's about all I'm going to get to do,' Garvin said. 'Because...'

The sound blurred for a moment, then cleared as he said, 'so you see why
I said that?'

'No,' Jasith said. 'Your voice went away.'

'I guess I do know something secret,' Garvin said. '

'Kay, lemme rethink how to put it.'

'Uh, was it something about us?'

'Yep.'

'Maybe something like it'll be a while before you see me again?'  Again,
the sound  blurred, but  Garvin had  nodded while  speaking. 'I  already
figured that  out,' Jasith  said. 'Daddy  told me  what... some real big
people told him.'

'That figures,'  Garvin said.  'Everybody out  there, including probably
the 'Raum, knows more about my future than I do.'

'Can I come see you?'

'I don't think so,' Garvin said. 'All of our civilian workers have  been
told to stay away, and they've doubled the...' Again his voice  blurred.
'I'm sorry, Jasith,' he said, sounding as completely pitiable as only  a
celibate twenty-year-old can. 'I really hoped, well, that...' His  voice
trailed off. 'Maybe, someday... aw, hell.'

The  two stared  at each  other for  a moment.  'I gotta  go,' he   said
finally. 'There's two or three other guys waiting to use this com.'

'Garvin,' Jasith said softly. 'Do you still want to... see me?'

'Of course. You know I do.'

'Then let me give you something to remember, when you're out there.'

She swiftly unfastened her blouse, opened it. She wore nothing under it,
and her breasts stood up firmly. She ran a fingernail around one nipple,
and it  stood up  firmly. 'I  wish it  was you  doing that  to me,'  she
whispered.

'Me too,' Garvin said, his voice a little hoarse.

'I'd show  you more...  give you  something more...  but a housekeeper's
just around the corner.  I'll miss you, Garvin.  And I'll be there  when
you want  me.' She  ran a  tongue slowly  around her  lips, then cut the
connection.

Garvin sat, staring at the gray screen. Someone hammered on the  booth's
door. 'Come on in there! Other people got girlfriends, too.'

'Not like mine,' Garvin said. 'Not like mine.'


Two months later, there were about twenty confirmed 'Raum killed,  fifty
six captured,  eighteen surrendered.  Thirty-eight Force  men and  women
were dead, about half  that many again wounded.  Seventy-three civilians
had been killed by one side or another. Forty-six 'illegal'  settlements
had been burned by Force  patrols or civilian vigilance patrols.  And no
one in the  Strike Force, beginning  with Finf Garvin  Jaansma, had been
granted a pass.


'You  see,' Comstock  Brien said,  'this is  the way  to victory.  Slow,
proven, but little by little we whittle them down, without any expensive
adventurism, such as you advocated.'

Jord'n Brooks smiled thinly. 'Let us hope, brother,' he said, 'that your
way continues to be successful.'

'It shall,' Brien said smugly. 'And now  is a good time to show how  our
power has increased.'


Five  days later,  an estimated  two hundred  or more  'Raum came   from
nowhere and seized a suburb  ofLeggett. They held the holo  station long
enough to make a planetwide 'cast proclaiming that justice and  equality
for the 'Raum must  come to the Cumbre  system, or the worlds  would run
with blood. They held a drumhead trial in the town's police station, and
hanged the  town's officials  and seven  of the  local police force. The
others had either fled or been killed in the assault.

Another thirty-nine civilians whom  the 'Raum accused of  being traitors
to humanity were shot before  the assault force vanished as  silently as
it had come, a full  half an hour before police  reinforcements arrived,
and  forty-five  minutes before  the  first Force  reaction  element was
deployed.



CHAPTER 25

They came out of the Griersons fast, blasters ready. Overhead, unseen in
the mist, three Zhukovs howled  close orbits around the buildings,  gray
in the gray dawn.

But there was nothing waiting except bodies.

Bodies and the Musth. There were thirty-three of the aliens, a  platoon,
wearing the combat  harness that identified  them as soldiers,  and they
moved in pairs,  from human corpse  to corpse, methodically  making sure
each was adequately dead.

Njangu and the rest of Gamma Team ran around the Musth headquarters, and
set up a hasty perimeter. Not two meters from Yoshitaro was a very  dead
man, who wore the simple coveralls of a farmer, but wore a Confederation
battle vest and carried an issue blaster. There was a fist-sized hole in
his chest.  Njangu glanced  at the  body, away,  then quickly  back, for
something  in  the  hole  had  moved.  White-gray  worms  wriggled, then
returned to their burrowing. Njangu swallowed hard.

'That's one  of their  weapons,' Kipchak  said calmly.  He was crouched,
blaster ready, to the team's rear. 'It's a projectile weapon that  blows
a frigging great  hole in you  with a capsule,  the capsule breaks,  and
those worms eat you to death before you've got time to scream more  than
once or twice. Supposedly the worms then die.'

'Not that it'd matter by then,' Penwyth said.

'Silence over there,' Gonzales snapped.

'Your men need not mire themssselves,' a Musth told Alt Hedley. 'Thessse
creaturesss have gone beyond, and  will not be troublesssome, and  there
are no more of them, or we would have found them on our detectorsss.'

'So it appears,' Hedley said. He  glanced back at Caud Williams and  his
staff, coming out ofaC&C Grierson. 'But I have my orders.''

'Then continue wasssting your time,' the Musth said. 'It isss no concern
of mine.'

Hedley nodded,  made the  rounds of  the I&R  company. The 'Raum must've
come out of that  ravine, he guessed, seeing  the sprawl of bodies  from
there almost to the main buildings.  The first to die had been  hit with
conventional blasters, and left  not completely unpleasant remains.  But
the closer the raiders got to  the Musth, the more nastily they'd  died.
Here was a clot of bodies shredded by something, there was-

'You are interesssted in what happened?' It was the Musth.

'I am.'

'I have the name  ofWIencing,' the Musth said.  'I have the lead  of the
sssoldiers who dessstroyed thessse bunglersss, I believe the word is.'

'Why bunglers?' Hedley asked. 'Jon Hedley is my name, by the way.'

'To  make an  attack, and  be utterly  wiped out  without causssing  any
casssualties  in return  doesss not  sssuggessst the  most ssskilled  of
warriorsss to me. Or am I making a misssevaluation?'

'No,' Hedley said. 'Not considering the results, you're not.'

'Are thessse the same sssort I have ssseen on your holosss? Banditsss, I
think you term them?'

'Yes. Renegades from the 'Raum.'

'I know the 'Raum,' Wiencing  said. 'Wormsss who burrow at  the ordersss
of your authority-onesss. From thisss, I would think they ssshould  know
their ssstation, and not presssume to be fighters.'

'They didn't do very well,' Hedley agreed.

'That  makesss  me  wonder about  certain...  thingsss,'  Wiencing said.
'About how good your warriorsss really are.'

'I am  not familiar  with your  weapons,' Hedley  said. 'Blasters killed
those men and women over there. But what about this group?'

'A very sssecret weapon,' Wiencing said.  He opened a pouch, took out  a
box with rounded corners. 'I touch thisss stud, then throw the deviccce.
When it ssstrikes, sssmall creaturesss explode out, sssmall  creaturesss
with... bitesss? Isss that the word?'

'Stings?'

'Yesss. Ssstingsss. Quick, but not pleasssant.'

'You said it was secret,' Hedley said. 'Why are you telling me?'

'Why not? I do  not think there isss  anything that ssspecial about  the
deviccce.  Ssstarshipsss' performance,  ssstrategies, misssiles,  yesss,
sssecret.  But  a  sssimple   killing  tool?  That  isss   ridiculousss.
Besssides, sssince I command our warriorsss, no one will contessst  what
I decccide to do. Or not to do.'

'I see,' Hedley said.

'Are you not plagued  by thossse-far-from-the-fight, who think  it their
right to make rulesss for all?'

'Lord knows we are that,' Hedley  said. He looked at another body.  'How
did she die?'

'By a  hand weapon  like this,'  Wiencing said,  taking something from a
pouch. It had a short, stubby barrel, and the 'grip' was a double strap.
Wiencing touched it to his upper paw, and the grip curled around it,  as
his double thumbs clasped it. 'A very, very fassst acccid, sssprayed  by
ultrahigh-presssure  air.  As fassst  asss  one of  your  blasssters, if
ssshorter-ranged.' He put  the weapon away,  looked back at  the command
group. A Musth had joined Caud Williams. 'That isss Aesc,' he said. 'Our
sssystem-leader. He isss telling your leader what happened, and  warning
him.'

'Warning him?' Hedley said.

'No Musth died here today at the handsss of these sssav-ages,'  Wiencing
said. 'That  isss good.  That isss  the way  it mussst  continue. If one
Musth... jussst one... isss killed by these rebelsss, thessse banditsss,
all humansss, innoccent,  guilty, everyone in  the Cumbre sssystem  will
either die or become our  digging worms, and these worldsss  will become
pan of the Musth Empire.'



CHAPTER 26

Word of the Highland Massacre swept through the' Raum mining colonies on
C-Cumbre, the 'Raum settlements  across D-Cumbre, and especially  in the
Eckmuhl, the 'Raum ghetto in  Leggett. The 'Raum exploded in  blind rage
and hatred. There  were no Musth  in Leggett, but  there were the  hated
police and  the Rentiers  who exploited  the sect.  Police lifters  were
overturned and  burnt, and  the officers  in them  beaten or worse. Riot
squads were  driven back,  and police  stations became  fortresses under
siege.  Stores  were  looted, including  two  of  Angie Rada's  family's
Markets. Gangs of  'Raum ravaged the  streets, and anyone  not armed and
traveling in company was in danger.

The Force was brought down from  the hills to bring order. The  soldiers
swept the streets,  set up roadblocks.  Unfamiliar with civil  disorder,
the soldiers  behaved as  if the  'Raum, all  'Raum, were their enemies,
sweeping the rioters back into Eckmuhl, arresting any 'Raum who couldn't
give an instant explanation  for who he-or  she-was, and what  he-or she
was doing, or even for just having a 'Raum-sounding name. Sometimes  the
'Raum fought back, and sometimes they ended up in hospital. Others,  not
so 'lucky,' ended in the morgue.

The streets were quiet again.  The holos, especially Matin, cheered  the
Force as  saviors of  Cumbre. The  soldiers gloried  in the  praise they
received so  seldom, or  at least  some did,  Alt Hedley,  Finf Kipchak,
Fin/Jaansma, Striker Yoshitaro,  Cent Angara and  others kept their  own
counsel.


'Now,' Jord'n Brooks told Jo Poynton quietly, as the Group assembled for
another meeting, this time in a  burnt-out village, 'you see my idea  of
moving against the oppressors in the city might have merit.'

'Our people were defeated,' she said.

Brooks  shrugged.  'They were  rioting,  not fighting  a  war. And  they
weren't beaten in their souls,  their hearts, their minds. Can  there be
any of our people who don't  realize their enemy, and that only  one can
survive?'

'I can't argue that,' Poynton  said carefully. 'But Brien's view  of the
Task has been more  successful than yours, at  least as far as  external
results, and success will rule this Group's thinking.'

'True,' Brooks  grudged. 'But  how long  will his  success continue? The
Force is still fighting us with only one hand, and that one bare. Sooner
or later, unless they are total fools, they will learn to fight our way.
And then what?'

Jo Poynton nodded once, turned away from Brooks as Com-stock Brien began
speaking.



CHAPTER 27

'You're free,' Jasith squealed.

'Or  anyway  reasonable,' Garvin  said.  'Since we're  such  hee-roes, I
wangled a pass.' Jasith didn't notice the sarcasm. 'Any possibilities of
getting together?'

Jasith's voice went  husky. 'You tell  me where.' Garvin  thought of the
Shelburne's bar, remembered Marya,  discarded the notion. 'I'm  from out
of town, remember?' he said. 'You pick the spot.'

'Are you still at the base?'

'Yeh. Next shuttle to Leggett's in... ten minutes.'

'You just  wait there,'  Jasith ordered.  'Concentrate on  looking cute.
I'll get you.'


Garvin peered through the gaggle of shuttles, cabs, and private lifters,
spotted a  familiar, long  black lim  nosing toward  him. 'Aw  shit,' he
moaned. 'Now  I'm gonna  have to  listen to  more batshit  about how the
frigging Force is saving frigging civilization. God damn it, Jasith! Are
we failing to communicate?'

The lifter grounded,  and the pilot's  door lifted and  Jasith stuck her
head out. ''Surprised?'

'Oh Lordy lord, am  I ever,' Garvin said  fervently. 'Then get in,'  she
ordered. 'Up front,  with me.' Garvin  checked the backseat.  No father.
Jasith had her hair tied back.and wore a red halter top and baggy  black
crepe pants. She was barefoot. Wordlessly, the two leaned together,  and
kissed. After some time, a horn blasted, and they broke away. 'Take me,'
Garvin said. 'I'm yours.'

Jasith touched controls, and the lim took off and floated along the ramp
toward the  ocean. 'Daddy's  got two  bodyguards keeping  me safe,'  she
said.

'Where'd you hide them? In the baggage compartment?'

'I managed to convince him that I was perfectly safe, if I came out here
to see you.  He said we  couldn't get in  any trouble with  soldiers all
around us.'

'There aren't any soldiers all around us,' Garvin said.

'You noticed.'

'So where are we going?'

'Nowhere.' Jasith touched sensors, and the lim turned until its nose was
pointing toward blackness. 'On  this heading,' she  said, 'we'll  reach'
she hit another sensor and  the SatPos screen lit-'Lanbay Island.  About
dawn, at this speed.'

'What's there?'

'Nothing. Rocks. Trees. Waves. But I wasn't thinking about going there.'

'What were you thinking?'

'First, about putting  this lifter on  auto... like this,'  Jasith said.
'Then about putting an anticollision alarm on. Then about toggling  this
sensor here'-the dark canopy of  the lim cleared, and they  were looking
up  at storm  clouds racing  overhead- 'and  getting in  the back,  like
this.' The seat swiveled, and Jasith moved past Garvin. 'Join me?'

Garvin  found seat  controls to  the side,  pressed one.  The seat  back
collapsed.

'Not that button, silly,' Jasith said. 'The one in front of it. But  put
the seat back up first.'

Garvin obeyed. 'Now what?'

'I had the head cook flash-defrost one of our picnic baskets,' she said.
'I put it in the storage compartment in the back of this seat. It's  got
all kinds of  good things in  it-roe, pate, chilled  filet of beef  with
sour cream dressing,  endive salad, and  a fruit ice,  plus a couple  of
bottles of that  Earth Taittinger champagne  you sucked up  so fast when
Daddy and I took you to dinner. So we could eat. Or...'

'Or what?'

'Or you could always press that button over there, under the window.'

Garvin obeyed,  and the  lim's rear  seat gently  collapsed, and pillows
inflated on either side. Jasith swung  her legs up, until she was  lying
on the seat.

'I wondered why Daddy  ordered this feature on  the lim, which came  all
the way  from Centrum,'  she said.  'He said  there'd been  a mistake. I
don't believe him. Do you think he might be unfaithful to my  stepmother
every now and again?'

Garvin didn't answer. He was staring, hypnotized, at Jasith. She sat up,
unfastened her  hair, let  it fall  free, then  her fingers  touched the
button of the halter top between her breasts.

'Let me do that,' Garvin said.

'All right.' Jasith lay back. Garvin's fingers were suddenly thumbs, but
the top came away. He bent his head, nibbled at her nipples. She sighed,
stroked his close-cropped  hair. He put  both hands in  the waistband of
her pants, slid them off. She wore nothing under them.

'Undress for me,' she whispered.

He obeyed, Jasith's eyes on him. 'You're very pretty,' she murmured.

'So are you.'

'Now,' she said,  lifting one leg  and resting it  on the doorsill,  and
putting her hands together, over her head, 'come here. Hold my wrists to
keep me from moving. Now, my Garvin. Oh, please, now!'


Half an eternity later, the lim bumped softly against something.  Jasith
murmured, sat up, peered out. 'Oh dear,' she said.

'What's the matter?' Garvin said.

'We appear to be lost. Oceans don't have shacks.'

The lim had gently bumped into a low shed, turned, and was drifting away
from it. Garvin saw a sign: FIRING RANGE SEVEN.

TARGET STORAGE SHED.

'We sure as hell are lost,' he said. 'Lost and in trouble. We're back on
Chance Island, out on one of the target ranges, on the east end. We will
get our heinies slapped if they catch us.'

'How'd we get here?' Jasith wondered.

Garvin looked over the now-lowered front seat, noted flashing lights  on
the control panel. 'I think  we must've kicked something,' he  said. 'Or
everything, starting with  the collision sensor.  And I think  we better
rectify the matter. I see headlights coming toward us.'

Jasith slid past  him, into the  driver's seat, and  her fingers rippled
over sensors. The lim lifted  to two meters, accelerated, and  sped over
the range, then down a rocky beach and back out to sea.

'Do you think they'll shoot at us?'

'I don't know,' Garvin said. 'Whyn't you drop it down some, and I'll say
a prayer.'

She  obeyed, and  small waves  crested barely  a meter  below the  lim's
bottom. 'Now what?'

'Now  we  wait  until  we  make  sure  we're  out  of  range  and beyond
challenge,' Garvin said. 'Are we going back toward Lan-bay Island?'

'More or less,' Jasith said.

'I don't see any missile flashes,' Garvin reported, looking back. 'So  I
guess we  showed 'em  clean skirts...  well, not  that. Bottoms,  maybe.
Whyn't you drop the speed down?'

'And then?'

'And then come back here where you belong.'

'All right,' Jasith said. 'And then?'

'Is there some way to open this roof?'

'Surely.' The  canopy opened,  and a  light, warm,  tropical rain misted
down.

'Now what?' Jasith said.

'You just stay on your knees like that,' Garvin said, getting  carefully
to his feet, 'and let me surprise you.'

A moment later Jasith squealed. 'Oh God, God, God,' she moaned. 'Oh yes.
All the way in me now. Oh, Garvin, Garvin...'


At dawn,  the men  and women  of the  Force were  stumbling out of their
barracks for reveille as a black luxury lifter floated down the enormous
parade  field.  It grounded,  a  door lifted,  and  a disheveled  Garvin
Jaansma got out, went to the driver's side.

'Wasn't Daddy right?' Jasith said softly. 'Wasn't I perfectly safe?'

He kissed her.

'Give me a call, soldier, when you're of a mind to.' The lim window slid
closed, and  the craft  lifted, spun  on its  own length and accelerated
away, toward Leggett across the bay.

Garvin Jaansma took a deep  breath, started across the parade  ground as
the whistles and catcalls built from the Force.



CHAPTER 28

'Again...you know  nothing about  the murder  of Mister  Scryfa and  his
family?'' the interrogator asked, slipping, letting a bit of incredulity
into her voice.

'Nothing,' the 'Raum said calmly.

'But you were their housemaster,' Technician Warbeck insisted.

'I was.''

'You were in the house when the murderers came in.'

'Evidently I was.'

'But you heard nothing? Nothing woke you?'

'I am a very sound sleeper,' the man insisted.

'Warder!'

The door opened, and the guard entered.

'He's cleared for release,' Warbeck  said. 'But you're to stay  in close
touch with us, in case we need to question you again.'

The man  stood, a  trace of  a smile  on his  lips, and  walked out. The
warder lingered. 'Why didn't you  nail him? The bastard was  there... we
know that... we even  found a blood trail  from the Scryfas' bedroom  to
his quarters.'

'Look at this trace.' the woman said, and lifted the hood away from  the
machine she sat  behind. 'Zero flickers  on the readouts,  zero wiggles,
zero  anything, which  means the  frigging scan  insists he's  innocent,
innocent, innocent, and that's all a judge will listen to.'

'That's not possible,' the guard said.

'Sure it is,' Warbeck said  tiredly. 'If somebody doesn't believe  lying
to us is really lying... they'll fly every time.'

'That's  what it's  come down  to?' the  warder asked.  'Some body   can
slaughter a Rentier... and his whole family... and hike?'

'That's what it's come down to.'


A Cooke hovered up the jungle trail, hovering at intervals, and a  small
white spike spat  into the ground  from a cylinder  bolted to its  hill.
Within an hour, three  women and two men  went the length of  the trail.
The leader carried a small homemade case. Every now and again, the  case
buzzed, and the  five looked carefully  through the undergrowth,  dug in
the ground until they  found one of the  spikes. Every time they  did, a
woman covered it with a dark metallic cone. They did this to all of  the
people-sniffers except  one. That  one they  put a  very filthy  pair of
pants next to,  and one man  urinated in a  circle around it.  Then they
ran, back toward their camp.

Three hours  after that,  three Zhukovs  dived toward  the spike.  Three
salvos of the  semiguided Fury rockets  shot toward the  ground, and the
jungle rocked  under explosions.  A single  Grierson sailed  through the
whirling smoke,  and an  I&R team  dropped off  its ramp. 'Kursk Leader,
this is Sibyl Beta,' the team reported. 'Negative contact.'

The  alt  commanding  the   Zhukov  flight  forgot  his   communications
discipline. 'Whaat? We had positive indicators!'

'This  is  Sibyl Beta,'  the  com told  him.  'I say  again...  negative
contact.  No   casualties  found,   no  traces   found.  Your  trickshit
machinery's wonky. Out.'


Two Cookes swirled about the village. 'No sign of life,' one reported.

'Keep  checking,' the  battalion commander,  overhead in  his  Grierson,
ordered. 'We have positive intelligence about this village.'

One Cooke dived low, the second close behind.

'Maybe there'll be something up  that draw?' the commander of  the first
Cooke suggested on the between-ship channel.

'On your tail,' the other responded.

The first entered  the ravine,  hovered around  a bend  and thick,  hand
woven nets rose up before, behind.  The gunner on the first ship  pulled
the triggers on his autocannon, and shells slammed uselessly through the
holes in the net.  Another net came up,  trapping the second Cooke.  The
commander of the ACV shouted a  warning, just as six 'Raum, each  with a
captured  Squad  Support  Weapon, rose  from  spider  holes and  bullets
yammered into the scout vehicles.


'Relax,' Comstock  Brien said  quietly. 'Does  it not  always come  this
route?'

'It does,' the young man said. 'But it'djust be my luck-'

'Don't talk  of luck,'  Brien ordered.  'The greater  your decision, the
harder you work, the better your luck shall always be.'

The young  man sniffed  in skepticism.  The third  man leaning against a
crude frame said nothing. A few minutes later, the first man  stiffened.
'I hear it.'

Moments later, the drive-whine was audible to Brien's older ears, and, a
hundred meters below, a Zhukov nosed into view, following the  overgrown
road as it curved below the  cliffs. The young man and his  partner tore
away  the concealing  foliage, pushed  the wooden  frame with  a  Shrike
lashed to it to the edge  of the bluff. The missile had  misfired during
an air-support  operation two  weeks ago,  been recovered  by the 'Raum,
fuel only half-expended. Its firing mechanism was replaced with a simple
contact detonator, and the missile carried far down island.

The second man moved away from the launcher and watched the Zhukov close
on a peculiarly shaped bush the  three men atop the hill had  designated
as a firing marker, while the third ran back a few meters and picked  up
a small switch that was wired to the missile's rear.

'Wait... wait... wait... wait... NOW!'  the second man ordered, and  the
third closed the switch. The Shrike hissed, then heat waves flared  from
its exhaust. The rack bucked, and the missile launched, almost  straight
down toward the Zhukov. It struck  the attack ship just behind the  main
turret. The Shrike's primary charge exploded, and a jet of  incandescent
gas seared  through the  armor. The  main charge,  a gaseous  explosive,
sprayed into the Zhukov's crew space and detonated. The Zhukov exploded,
pinwheeling into the jungle, thrashing like a dying beast.

The three men  allowed themselves a  moment of exultation,  then trotted
away.

*   *   *

'How the hell did those bastards manage to kill a Zhukov!' Caud Williams
raved.

'As I said, sir, from above,'  Mil Rao said. 'Armor's a few  centimeters
thinner there. And nobody expects to be hit from topside unless  they're
in space.'

'What was that goddamned vehicle commander doing that low, anyway?'

'Doing as  he'd been  ordered, sir.  Closely patrolling  the old highway
toward the Highlands, looking for enemy sign.'

'Very well,'  Williams said.  'Very well.  We'll have  to...' His  voice
trailed off.

Rao waited. 'Yes, sir?' he said after a time.

'Give me a moment,' Williams said.  'I'm trying to figure what we'll  do
next.'


There were five Cookes, flying west, fast, about a hundred meters  above
the jungle.  The bluffs  leading to  the Highlands  were to  their left.
Three times one or another of the combat lifters dipped into a clearing,
hovered for an instant, then  climbed back to the formation.  The fourth
time was almost  like the others,  except that the  diving Cooke hovered
long enough for eleven  men to drop off  the sides, and double  into the
thick brush around the clearing, crouching in a perimeter.

The  eleven were  Gamma Team,  First Troop,  I&R Company  plus Alt   Jon
Hedley. They wore dark  green-and-black camouflage matching the  jungle,
their faces and hands were blackened, and they carried heavy packs. They
waited, weapons ready, for five  minutes. The jungle was silent,  except
for the drip of rain. A  wind stirred. A howler called from  a distance.
Then  a  gunshot blasted  from  somewhere, dull,  dead,  muffled by  the
undergrowth. A moment later, another shot came, from some distance, then
a third and a fourth, each blast fainter than the last.

'Shit!' Petr said, standing. 'They made us.'

The team stayed  in a crouch,  except for Hedley,  who slid to  the team
leader. 'Now what happens?'

'We evac,' Petr said, 'or else there'll be thirty or more of 'em  coming
in on us. A man could  get hurt sticking around an insertion  zone these
days.'

'Every time?'

'Just about,' Petr said.  'They seem to be  able to tell whether  it's a
phony insert or  for real. Looks  like the bastards  have every clearing
either  bugged...  although  we can't  find  any  telltales... or  under
visual.  This is  my fourth  patrol this  week that's  been blown.'   He
motioned to the team's com man, took the microphone: 'Sibyl One Control,
this is Sibyl One Gamma. Outski. Eyeballed. Clear.'

'This is Sibyl  Control,' the voice  came. 'Nice short  visit. Stand by.
Pickup inbound.'

'See what I mean, boss?' Petr said.

'I do,' Hedley said.  'I know you're good,  and I know the  other insert
teams are good.  The flipping problem  seems to be  flipping simple. The
flipping villains are flipping winning.'



CHAPTER 29

Caud Williams  was glooming  over a  glass of  sherry-his last case from
Centrum, which made his mood worse-in his quarters when someone  tapped.
'Enter.'

Jon Hedley opened the door. 'A word, sir?'

'Come in, Alt.'

Hedley obeyed.

'A  drink?'  Williams asked.  'There's  almost anything  you  could want
behind the false bookshelves.'

'Nossir,' Hedley said. 'I'd like to ask a favor.'


'Petr, Monique,' Hedley said genially. 'Grab a cup and drag up a  chair.
I'm looking for flipping volunteers.'

'Boss,' Kipchak said, 'I'll be honest. You've got me for anything that's
better than this dumbshit stumbling around like we've been doing.'

'I'm in, too,' Lir said.

'I'm not just looking for  single volunteers,' Hedley said. 'I  want two
flipping teams, one as the main operators, one as support.'

'You've got Gamma,' Kipchak said.

'And Beta,' Monique said.

'You're not going to check?'

'Don't need to,' Lir  said. 'I speak for  everybody. If I don't...  they
can  go  back  to groundponding  with  the  line-slime.' Kipchak  nodded
agreement.

'I had a  little chat with  God,' Hedley said.  'Caud Williams listened,
said it  was worth  a try.  He sounded  pretty beat-up  by the course of
flipping events.'

'No offense  to ossifers  and like  that,' Kipchak  said, 'but he damned
well ought to. This Operation Clean Sweep's a goddamned joke.'

'With any  luck, things'll  get serious  now,' Hedley  said. 'Here's the
drill. We're going to put one patrol out on a hot scent... I've  figured
out a  way to  get on  the ground  without being  snooped, I hope... and
they're going to stay flipping out there until we bag the lot of 'em.'

'How long?'

'If necessary,' Hedley said,  'until everybody's dead, retired  or their
enlistment's up.'

'What about resupply?'

'You'll lug ultraconcentrates, and won't get anything more until  you're
starving,'  Hedley said.  'Then we'll  do it  with some  kind of  masked
airdrops.'

'What about commo?'  Lir said. 'Nice  to be runnin'  through the jungle,
all sneaky-like, with half a  dozen goddamned Command and Control  dicks
ten meters upstairs.'

'That's part of  the deal Williams  bought,' Hedley said.  'I run things
from insert until it gets serious and you call for the big dogs.  Nobody
hangs over you.'

'Let's go back  to this bagging  lot,' Petr said.  'How's that going  to
work?'

'The  insert  team stays  after  the villains,'  Hedley  explained, 'and
follows 'em to where  they're going. If it's  a raid, the patrol  either
wipes 'em out or gets them to surrender. If things get too big, I've got
authorization to call in all kinds of flipping support.'

'How much is all kinds of flipping?'

'The whole flipping Force, if that's what it takes,' Hedley said.

Lir whistled soundlessly. 'What did you do? Catch Williams in bed with a
dead woman or a live kid?'

'Oh ye  of little  faith. He  merely listened  to my  wisdom, then began
salaaming.'

'Yeh,' Lir said. 'Right.'

'Go get your teams ready,' Hedley  said. 'I've got some coms to  make...
there'll be a little augmentation made before you tromp the turf.'

*   *   *

'Asshole Ben is looking for volunteers again,' Dill said. 'With I&R  one
more time...  except this  time it's  forreaL Trying  something new, new
being classified.'

'Why not?' Kang said. Dill looked  at the other two, got nods.  'I'm not
sure how it's different,  but we're going to  be part of the  immediate.
And Garvin... we're backing up your chingo Yoshitaro with Gamma Team.'

'This might be really real, then,' Garvin said. 'I surely hope so,' Kang
said, a little wistfully. 'I'd really like to kill somebody who's not  a
computersim before I get too old to gloat.'


Caud Williams watched the fifty  soldiers file into the hangar  and find
seats on  the floor.  He waited  until security  specialists closed  the
doors. 'Good afternoon,' he said. 'I'll make this short. This  operation
is being directed by Alt Jon Hedley of Intelligence and  Reconnaissance,
and it's all his show. All I have to say is the Force has always thought
of itself as a team. You half hundred are going to prove we are.  That's
it.'

Hedley saluted, he returned  the salute, then,  surprisingly, sat  cross
legged on the concrete as if he were no more than a striker.

'A team,' Hedley began. 'That's as good an image as any other. From  now
on, I  want all  of you  to lose  any idea  about who's  better, scouts,
armor, commo  or whatever.  We all  have the  same job:  Kill or capture
'Raum dissidents.

'That's what we're going out to do. Not take territory, not make friends
with villagers, not  look good in  holos. We're also  not going to  kill
anybody who isn't flipping trying to kill us. Nobody's going to call  in
a target  they 'think'  might be  goblins, nor  are we  going to  launch
because we 'think'  a village might  have 'Raum. There's  been enough of
that nonsense.

'We want the goblins and only the goblins, either dead or in our  hands,
singing like little dicky birds  about their friends. Once we've  nailed
them, good and hard, two things'll happen:

First is the little guys in  the jungle will start wondering if  they're
on the right side;  and the bigger guys  will think about going  back to
the mines or whatever they  were doing before they started  messing with
the wrong people. And there'll be no rest for us until we're done.'


It was a bit  like basic training, Njangu  thought, but not much.  Their
instructor was Petr, and the entire team was trainees. 'The first  order
of business is Contact Reaction,' Petr said. 'We'll go through it  until
it's pure muscle response, and your brain is still playing diddly-do-wah
and it's all over.'

Reaction-when hit, everyone jumped to  the side, first man left,  second
man right, and so  forth. Turn in the  direction of the fire,  first man
sprayed a burst of ten rounds,  runs back, second man did the  same, and
so on until the patrol was back far enough to break contact and  retreat
or find a  better fighting position.  Again and again  they went through
it,  marching up  and down  through the  comparatively safe  jungles  of
Chance Island, always with live ammunition. There wasn't any  punishment
for  error, just  Petr's sad  eyes and  a slow  shake of  the head;  but
somehow, probably  because things  would get  very real  in the next few
days, that was a worse penalty than anything Lir could've devised.

Monique was doing  the same  with her  team, over  and over  again. Slow
walking, step by step, utter silence, toe coming down first, then  heel,
then rest,  then another  step forward.  Knowing where  everyone carried
everything-spare ammo  in the  lower pouches  of the  vest, any personal
medication in  upper-left shirt  pocket, snacks  in upper-right  pocket,
med-pouch on right hip,  and so on and  so forth. Any team  member could
find anything she... or the  possible casualty... needed on anyone  else
by day or night, whether the other was conscious or bleeding.

'Well,' Petr  announced one  day, 'we're  not ready,  but I  don't think
there's anything more to be gained  by farting around out here. I  think
it's time to go play in the forest.'


'Got a min?'

'Sure,' Njangu said. He eyed Erik Penwyth carefully, wondering what  was
coming-his tentativeness suggested Penwyth was about to confess to  some
great sin, and Yoshitaro wasn't in the mood to play confessor.

'Uh... did you hear about Angie?'

'Nope. Been too busy  trying to figure out  what I'm gonna carry  to the
field.'. 'She's gone.'

'What?'

'Yeh. Bought herself out two days ago.'

'Where'd she  get the  credits?' Njangu  wondered. 'She  would' ve  had,
what, two years, maybe three  left on her hitch?  Going rate for a  bare
bones crunchy is a  thousand credits per year,  plus I'd guess I&R  adds
more to  that. Say  another five  hundred? That's  a pot  of money for a
striker.'

'Her family's got money,' Erik said.

'I thought she wasn't on speaking terms with them.'

'You saw some of their stores got burned out?'

'Saw it on the holos. I was  going to ask,' Njangu said. 'But we're  not
exactly on speaking terms these days.'

Erik  didn't  go  back to  his  bunk.  Njangu put  on  a  bland, waiting
expression. 'Uh... there's something else.  She and I... well, we  had a
thing a couple of weeks ago. The last time they gave us a pass.'

'So? She  told me  to pack  my ass  with salt  and piddle  up a rope two
months or more ago,' Njangu said. 'And even so, we weren't in love.  I'm
not crying up my sleeve over her... at least, not as far as I know.'

'We  weren't  talking love,  either,'  Erik said.  'But  something weird
happened... maybe you can tell me what it means.'

'I don't think, knowing  what I don't know  about Angie, I can  tell you
squat.'

'We  ended  up at  my  folks' place,'  Erik  said. 'And,  well,  sort of
vanished  for  the weekend.  I've  got my  own  apartments with  my  own
entrance and so  forth. I asked  her if she  wanted to meet  my parents,
maybe  go out  to a  party or  something. Since  she's kind  of wild,  I
thought she'd get along 'kay with  some of my rowdier friends. She  said
she wanted  to go  out... then  changed her  mind. She  sounded a little
angry when she said that. So all we did was, well, be together.'

'Angie was like that with me, too,' Njangu said.

'It was, well,  I guess I'd  call it a  little exotic,' Erik  said. 'But
don't think I'm bragging or anything, just trying to explain. Then,  the
night we  had to  come back,  she told  me to  whack off,  and if I said
anything to anybody about what happened, about the things we did,  she'd
dry-gulch me.'

'That's just about exactly what happened to me,' Njangu said.

'What  did I  do wrong?'  Erik said.  'I mean,  we weren't  in love,  or
anything. But she  was 'kay, and  I thought we  were getting along.  And
then... whambo.'

Njangu shook his head. 'Sorry, my friend. I haven't a clue.'

'Weird,' Erik said. 'Just plain weird.'


Four days later, yet another  sweep went out, two companies  from Second
Regiment. Plus ten  extra men, who,  except for outsize  packs for their
Squad Support Weapons, looked no  different from the others. There  were
other, less  obvious differences-they'd  bathed in  chemical potions the
Force's IV Section-Logistics-said would mask their scent from snif-fers,
either animal or mechanical; and their uniforms were coated to mask heat
radiation.

The  two companies  laboriously moved  through the  flatlands below  the
bluffs,  then  swept a  village  reported to  be  'Raum-controlled. They
checked  identity  cards,  asked for  cooperation  with  the government,
promised great rewards for any  'Raum who turned himself or  anyone else
in, and left with negative contact, negative results. At dusk, Griersons
lifted them back to Chance Island.

No one had noticed the  ten men and women-Gamma Team,  I&R Company-who'd
dropped away into thick brush a kilometer outside the village. The recon
team formed a defensive perimeter,  took whisper coms from their  packs,
fitted them, and Kipchak made a commo check.

An hour  after the  companies crashed  away into  silence, three  women,
loudly and  ostentatiously calling  for an  escaped gip-tel,  came past.
Kipchak glanced at Njangu, grinned tightly. No one spoke-the team's coms
were set on a frequency between the normal military channels, but  there
wasn't any point  in being sloppy.  The 'Raum's three  scouts had missed
them.

Half of  the team  ate, while  the rest  kept watch.  Their rations were
high-concentrate protein bars, four thousand calories per meal, and each
soldier carried two dozen paks. They could travel long and far on these,
with  their only  worry being  the notorious  side effect  of the   bars
clamping their bowels shut for perpetuity. 'At least,' Kipchak had said,
'that keeps us from exposing our flanks.'

It rained at dusk. They were glad of it-the drizzle, the dwindle of  the
rainy season, would hide any noise they made when moving. An hour later,
Kipchak signaled. They crept to the trail and went back to the  village.
There  were lights  on in  the buildings,  and the  common building  was
occupied.

Petr held one hand out, an the  team went into cover. He shed his  pack,
pointed toward  Heckmyer, and  the two  slithered forward.  Kipchak took
night glasses from a pouch on his combat vest and swept the village  and
the crowd outside the common building. Ho, ho, ho, he thought. Where did
all those hale hearty yongkers come from? They sure weren't around  when
the troopies  were. And  they're all  carrying guns.  Tsk. Perhaps these
kiddies don't mean to bring happiness and health on honest soldiery.

There was a meeting going on, but  Kipchak was too far away to make  out
any words. He thought of getting a shotgun pickup from one of the  team,
but decided not. Revolutionary cant was revolutionary cant. He keyed his
whisper mike. 'Go back for the  others,' he told Heckmyer. The man  slid
away, came back with the team. Again, Petr touched his com. '

'Raum  in the  village,' he  said, waited  for the  team to  survey  the
situation. 'I count seventeen.'

'We could nail 'em good right now,' Penwyth suggested.

'Negative,' Petr decided. 'There'd  be civ casualties. We'll  sweep wide
of the village,' he said, 'and  lurk beyond the pathway on the  south. I
think  they'll  take that  route  back to  wherever  they live  sometime
tonight or tomorrow. We'll take a chance on losing them on the way.  But
I'd rather get a whole bunch of goblins than wipe 'em up one at a time.'

'What about the reaction team?' Fi'n/Newent asked.

'I  don't  see any  chance  to put  them  on the  ground  without alarms
blanging. Poor Monique.'


Just  before  false dawn.  Striker  Deb Irthing  heard  sounds from  the
village. She  nudged Stef  Bassas, her  watchmate, and  he crawled back,
tapped heels of  the sleeping Gamma  Team, lying in  starfish formation.
Petr Kipchak crawled up beside her,  listened, and keyed his com to  the
main frequency assigned to I&R. 'Gamma. Moving.' He flipped the com back
to the team frequency.

Five  minutes  later,  dark  figures came  up  the  trail.  Petr counted
sixteen. He didn't move, and the  last 'Raum came past. Not good  enough
or tricky enough, he thought, you 'II never trap Mrs. Kipchak's favorite
boy like that, counted half a  hundred, then said, 'Go,' stepped out  of
concealment, and Gamma went after the 'Raum.

They moved very slowly,  thinking of silence, breathing  slowly, knowing
the 'Raum  were moving  faster, confident  on their  own ground, certain
they weren't being tracked. Once an hour Petr touched a tiny transponder
on his combat harness, and a red blip flashed back at Camp Mahan, in the
I&R Company's Plotting Room. It was about half-full of officers,  mostly
from II Section, plus Mil Rao, the Force's executive officer. They spoke
but little,  and the  occasional scrape  of a  coffee cup  or suppressed
cough was very loud.

The day was clear and hot,  without clouds, the muddy trail starting  to
dry out. Kipchak changed point men every hour, but refused to let anyone
else walk slack-just  behind point. He  regularly knelt and  checked the
tracks left by  the seventeen. If  the footprints were  water-filled, he
kept moving, but twice,  when mud was seeping  into the tack he  stopped
the team, letting the 'Raum get farther ahead.

Even with all the caution, he  almost led the patrol into them,  just at
midday. The 'Raum had moved off the trail for a meal, and it was only by
luck that Bassas, taking point, saw the dull gleam of a weapon ahead. He
froze, motioned once, and very  slowly, very carefully. Gamma backed  up
twenty-five meters. They waited, heard  movement after a time, and  went
on.

It was  late in  the day  when they  heard the  whine of a lifter. Gamma
slipped off  the trail,  didn't look  up, even  though their  faces were
camouflaged. The lifter passed  overhead. Petr Kipchak felt  blood pound
at  his  temples. Bastards,  bastards,  bastards, and  they  promised no
goddamned overheads,  probably frigging  Williams not  able to  keep his
goddamned hands  out of  the pie...  The lifter  came back,  and Kipchak
chanced looking up,  saw the aircraft,  saw a flash  of the logo  on the
lifter's side; Matin.  He swore again,  in a new  and different key.  So
there's a leak  somewhere, somebody must've  let the joumohs  know there
was something going on in this sector, and they 're out looking.

Njangu,  too,  had seen  the  markings. I'll  have  to tell  Garvin,  he
thought. Next  time, stand  on that  pigfuttering Kouro's  neck and make
sure he's drownded dead, not just soggy.

The lifter made another pass over the featureless jungle, then its whine
receded. The patrol went on.


An hour before dusk. Gamma smelled smoke, heard the yap of giptels,  and
knew there  was another  village ahead.  It was  a bit  larger than  the
first,  and had  three paths  leading in  and out.  Sounds of  laughter,
cheering, came, and Gamma  smelled something barbecuing. Something  very
tasty. They avoided  looking down at  the hi-pro rations  as they chewed
mechanically.

'Two men,' Kipchak said into the whisper mike. 'Take the team's canteens
and go back a quarter klick to the stream. Njangu,' he went on, 'I think
they'll take the upper  trail tomorrow. But bug  the lower one, just  in
case. Take Irthing for backup.'

Njangu took two tiny devices that looked like nails with enlarged  heads
from a pack pocket,  slid out of his  pack straps, and moved  toward the
village, blaster ready, as  dark closed in. He  wished he had a  pistol,
but those weren't issue, but private purchase. Only Petr Kipchak carried
one. Once a giptel heard or smelled him, and yapped, but no one paid any
mind, too busy with celebrating whatever. He found the trail, turned the
sensors on, buried them on either side of the track.

He was only about three meters from  the back of one hut, and heard  the
sound of a man panting, a woman moaning. The woman squealed, and the man
grunted  several times.  / am  in the  wrong end  of this  business,  he
thought, then thought  nothing as the  man came out  of the hut,  a dim,
naked form. Njangu slowly raised  his SSW, wondering why his  gut turned
at the thought of killing someone who was naked.

The man  peered into  the gloom,  and Njangu's  finger tightened  on the
trigger, then the  man laughed hugely  and began urinating.  Njangu felt
spray on his face,  and acid burned at  the back of his  throat. The man
finished, scratched,  went back  into the  hut, and  more laughter came.
Yoshitaro swallowed hard,  and started back  toward the patrol.  Irthing
was squatting  next to  a tree,  shoulders shaking.  So this  is how  to
become a legend in the Force, Njangu thought.


Petr led them up  a slope to a  flat ground above the  village, gathered
the patrol  around. He  closed the  whisper mike,  spoke in  a low tone.
'This  is safer,'  he said.  'We can  see the  trail they'll  take...  I
think... from here, and nobody's  going to get stumbled over.  Or pissed
on,' he said  with a bit  of a laugh.  'There's a big  pool about twenty
meters on, Njangu. You can go sluice off, and we'll try to remember  not
to shoot you when you come back.'


There were three on watch, Kipchak, Jil Mahim, and Njangu. The party  in
the village  had died  down, and  there were  only two  or three  lights
burning. They were high enough on  the bluffs to look out over  the bay,
and could see the faint lights from Leggett to their right, in the west,
and Chance Island, home, warmth,  dry clothes, and real food  glimmering
like a jewel in the bay's center.

Petr had said  it was all  right to talk,  as long as  it was quiet, but
neither Mahim  or Njangu  had anything  to say,  night, jungle,  and the
'Raum close about them.

It  was very  clear, and  the stars  shone with  a hard  beauty.  Njangu
wondered, if he knew where to look, if he could see the star  Waughtal's
Planet orbited around. He hoped not.

He jumped a bit as Petr began talking in a very low voice, almost as  if
he were thinking aloud. 'When I was a boy,' he said, 'I remember a holo.
Old sucker, and the colors were  starting to bleed a little. Anyway,  it
was  about a  planet called  Rome, and  how they  carved themselves   an
empire. Their soldiers were called legionaries, and the empire kept them
on the frontiers, keeping it safe.

'Maybe that's  where I  decided I  wanted to  become a  soldier. Keeping
people safe's not a bad thing  to do with your life. Anyway,  there were
barbarians, and they kept hammering at the empire, and little by  little
it shrank, and bits were lost, and eventually Rome disappeared.

'I kept thinking about  that, and what it  would have been like  to have
been one of those legionaries, out on the far end of nowhere, looking at
the stars  and knowing  they were  enemy, and  knowing there was nothing
behind you, you were cut off, that there was no support, nobody to shout
for when the barbarians came. I wondered what it was like to be part  of
a last legion like that.

'Never thought I'd find out for real.'

He fell silent, and there was no sound but a tiny, whispering wind.


'Intelligence says Gamma  Team's still on  them,' Dill said.  'The 'Raum
have holed up in another village for the night, and Gamma's sitting on a
hill, waiting.  So far  the 'Raum  don't seem  to be  anything but  fat,
happy, and dumb.'

'What's their team leader going to do?' Gorecki wanted to know.

'According to Cent Angara... and none  of this are we supposed to  know,
being dumb-ass  flyfolks in  the rear  rank,' Dill  said, 'he's going to
track 'em until they  lead him to a  bigger target. Or, if  they realize
they're being tracked, scrag 'em.'

'Hope he finds a big, wet, creamy target,' Kang said. 'Something like  a
headquarters, right out in the open. Yum!'

'Restrain  yourself.  Ho,' Garvin  said.  'All things  come  to she  who
waits.'

'I'm not talking about coming, dammit. I'm talking about killing!'

'You should've been the gunner, the way you talk.'

'Nope,' Kang  said. 'Any  fool can  pull a  trigger. It  takes brains to
handle electronics.'

'I'm gonna shatter your whole world,' Jaansma said. 'I'll bet if we find
them,  they won't  have anything  more sophisticated  than what  they've
stolen from us for you to worry about.'

'Then I'll ask for a turn on the guns.'

'Fair  enough.'  Garvin  turned  to  Ben.  'You  know,  0  big-time  and
enlightened Vehicle Commander, I've been thinking.'

'Tsk,' Ben said. 'Brains aren't  authorized until you make dec.  But try
your feeblest.'

'I'm wondering about these 'Raum,' Garvin said. 'Mostly they live in the
cities, with the biggest concentration over in Leggett, right?'

'Except for the mines on C-Cumbre, pretty much,' Dill said. 'But there's
got to be a kiloton of 'em scattered around in the bush in little  bitty
villages.'

'Scattered around doesn't make for anything very impressive.'

'I don't see where you're going.'

'Sooner or later,  we're going to  start nailing them,'  Garvin went on.
'We can't keep being clusterbrains forever, can we?'

'With Caud Williams anything's a possibility.'

'When we start hurting them,' Garvin went on, 'it'll be hard for them to
get support from the villagers, fishermen, whatever, right?'

''Course,' Kang said. 'Especially if  we do something smart, like  start
controlling the groceries and  keeping track of city-bought  supplies so
we can see what villages are quartermasting the shitheads.'

'Not bad,'  Garvin said  admiringly. 'Promote  that woman.  Now, once we
start hurting them, we'll be hunting them pillar to post, right?'

'Right,' Dill agreed. 'Relentless pukes that we are.'

'Hold that line,'' Garvin said, 'and consider something else. They  slot
somebody out there in the wilderness, it doesn't make much of a dent  in
the holos.  What would  happen if  they started  killing people  here in
Leggett?  Wouldn't  Matin  go  apeshit about  the  third  body  that got
splattered on the front steps of their building?'

'Sure,' Dill said. 'Look how  wiggly everybody got when that  Rentier...
Scryfa, I think  it was, and  his family got  butchered last month.  The
'Raum start doing that on a regular basis, and maybe leaving a bomb here
and  there to  keep life  interesting, D-Cumbre'll  start skreekin'  and
hollerin'. Stands to reason.'

'So shouldn't they be moving into the cities and pushing things to  make
PlanGov knuckle under  and talk about  whatever changes the  'Raum think
they're fighting for?'

Dill looked carefully at Garvin. 'You know, troop, I'm sorta glad you're
on our side. 'Cause what you just said makes way too much sense.'


Njangu woke before dawn, his head throbbing, his gut wrenched in a knot.
He tried to vomit, couldn't. Jil Mahim, the team medic, crawled over.

'What's the problem?' she whispered.

'Got the creeping cruds,' he managed. 'Probably from bein' pissed on.'

'That  can do  it to  you,' she  said, went  back to  her pouch.  'Here.
Painkillers and anticrud.'

Njangu  unscrewed his  canteen, swallowed  the tablets  with a  gulp  of
water. Seconds later, everything came up. 'Ohfrab,' he moaned.

Kipchak crawled  up beside  the medic,  found out  the problem. 'Can you
march?'

'Hell yes,' Njangu managed. 'That's better'n the alternatives.'

Petr nodded. The only option was for Njangu to be left behind. After the
'Raum  and  the patrol  cleared  the area,  the  Force would  evac  him.
Assuming there was something left to evac. 'Saddle up, then.'

Njangu feebly  got into  his pack,  picked up  his blaster. Pen-wyth and
Mahim helped him up. 'It ain't  gonna get any easier,' he managed.  They
moved to the trail, and were waiting for the 'Raum when they moved past.

The day was hot, dry, and a blur. Njangu felt like he was on fire,  pain
in every joint.  He wanted to  crawl off to  the side of  the trail, lie
down, and hope for sleep. Or death. But he didn't. He kept plodding. The
universe narrowed to one hand carrying his blaster, the crushing  weight
of his pack,  and one foot  in front of  the next, over  and over. Every
time he  brushed against  a branch,  or scraped  a rock,  it felt like a
burning brand.

Once, he found tears running down his face, hastily scrubbed them, and a
portion of his camouflage, away with a filthy sleeve. Nobody's ever seen
Njangu Yoshitaro cry,  and they wouldn't  now. No one  since... since he
couldn't remember when. He hated himself, and everyone else. Kipchak for
moving at such a killing pace, the bastard on point who always took  the
steep way, the rocky way, the son of a bitch behind him who wouldn't  do
the decent thing and carry his pack for him. Bastards the lot.

He  dully swallowed  the broth  Mahim fed  him around  midday, lost   it
minutes later. The medic held an airblast to his arm, and he was vaguely
aware of hissing. Somebody  was lifting him, and  he got his feet  under
him. He stumbled, the  pack almost bringing him  down, but he found  his
balance. 'Hep ho,' he managed, and they moved on again.

The day was an agony of months  and years, and when the tears came  back
again he  didn't bother  to wipe  them away.  He didn't  see anything on
either side, didn't care if  the goddamned 'Raum ambushed him.  At least
they wouldn't be moving,  at least the 'Raum'd  let him rest, and  being
shot couldn't hurt more than he already did.

Eventually they stopped, and somebody led  him to a tree, slid his  pack
off, and told him  to sit down. Somebody  else fed him some  more broth,
and this time it stayed down.  Mahim gave him another injection, and  he
was instantly unconscious.

He awoke in a  gray dawn, feeling marvelous.  He didn't believe it,  and
cautiously felt his arms, his legs. He wasn't dead, at least not  unless
dead included still being in a  jungle. He could smell his body,  and it
still  smelled sick.  But he  was alive.  He remembered  crying the  day
before, and, strangely enough, wasn't ashamed.

Faintly the thought came-you  just pushed through something,  my friend.
Like you did on  the cliffs. Taught you,  didn't it? He put  the thought
aside as being hopelessly romantic and got ready for the day's march.


They followed the 'Raum for two  more days. Now the villages were  fewer
and smaller as they moved closer to the Highlands. The 'Raum made  their
camp in kwelf  groves. Gamma didn't  have that luxury  and slept in  the
open. But at least the rains had stopped-the dry season had arrived.


Njangu was on point. He was utterly alive, every nerve singing, and  the
brush of a breeze on his skin was like a blow. The ir was sharp,  clean,
and  every  tree, every  flower  had a  different,  distinct scent.  His
breathing  came slowly,  regularly, from  below his  diaphragm, as  he'd
learned from his  sensei, long ago  on Waughtal's Planet.  He could feel
the  enemy  ahead,  maybe  two, maybe  three  hundred  meters,  feel the
careless, confident way they moved.

He  jumped when  Petr tapped  his shoulder,  thumbed him  back into  the
column, almost got angry, then obeyed. It was someone else's turn-no one
could maintain perfect alertness for long. Fin/Newent slid past, flashed
a tight,  meaningless grin,  teeth pulled  back in  a near snarl. Njangu
followed him at slack, a respectable distance from Newent.

The jungle  blew up  in front  of him,  and Newent  stumbled back,  arms
splaying, his SSW  spinning, and fell  against him. Yoshitaro  heard the
thud of gunfire, and Newent  convulsed, grunted, went limp. 'Hit  them,'
someone was  shouting, and  Njangu realized  it was  Kipchak. He  pushed
Newent's corpse away, fired four  bolts at waist-level, fought the  urge
to go flat, found  a grenade on his  belt, thumbed, and hurled  it, then
crouched and sprayed  more rounds. Other  blasters were stuttering,  and
the volume of fire from the 'Raum slowed, and he tossed another grenade,
rolled,  and the  three behind  him sharded  into splinters.  He  forced
himself up to his knees, lifted the heavy SSW, sprayed fire across blank
green jungle.

For an instant  there was silence,  and Kipchak shouted,  'Back,' and he
obeyed, stumbling away from the ambush and a bolt clipped a branch  over
his head, and he almost tripped and fell. There was a cluster of  rocks,
and  the  patrol was  behind  them. 'Come  on,'  Kipchak shouted.  'Fall
back...  you're  the  last,'  and the  patrol  was  moving  again, at  a
shuffling trot.

Njangu realized he was last in column, closest to the enemy, and  fought
panic. Kipchak was there, firing past him. 'Back to the trail fork,'  he
ordered, 'we'll mousetrap 'em there,' and Njangu obeyed, hearing the air
rasp in and out of his lungs.  Gamma spread out at the fork, and  Njangu
spotted a thick cluster of brush to one side.

'Jil,' he ordered. 'You and Stefkeep running back. Make a lot of  noise.
Stop about fifty meters  down the trail and  drop off to the  side. Slot
anything that comes down. We'll shout you back up when we need you.  The
rest of you, over there and get  ready to smash 'em when they come.'  He
wondered dimly what made him give the orders, but Gamma was obeying, and
Petr came back.  He saw what  Njangu had ordered,  nodded. Seconds later
they saw motion up trail, and five' Raum half ran toward them.

'No... no... no...' Petr was whispering... 'NOW!' and five Squad Support
Weapons blasted  fire. Screams,  and staggering  bodies, and  Njangu let
another burst go into their midst.

'Up, up,' Kipchak ordered, and shouted for Mahim and Bassas. 'Now  we've
got them going...  don't let up.'  They went back  the way they'd  come,
past four bodies and one sobbing boy. Kipchak's pistol fired, and he was
silent. Five down, Yoshitaro thought. Twelve to go. Njangu saw  Newent's
blank, staring eyes in a mask of blood, looked away. Mahim stopped  long
enough to tuck a sensor on the body, turn it on for later pickup.

All that day the patrol followed the 'Raum. The com started  chattering,
and Petr keyed  the mike: 'This  is Gamma. All  frigging units stay  off
this freq  or I'll  close the  com down.  Clear.' There  was a squawk of
outrage from someone, but then the com was quiet.

'We're tracking 'em,'  Petr explained as  he ordered a  halt. 'And we're
too  close. Look.  They're leaving  a blood  trail. Let  'em get  a  few
minutes ahead,' he said. 'Then we'll go on.'

'What happens next?' Penwyth asked. 'We need a piece of the bastards for
slotting Newent.'

'They'll try  to trap  us,' Kipchak  said. 'And  if they  can't bust us,
they'll try to lose us, which we aren't gonna let them do. Don't  worry.
We'll get ours.'

The  'Raum backtrailed  three times,  but all  three times  their  hasty
ambush was spotted before it was sprung. Then, as Kipchak had predicted,
the 'Raum went  more slowly, into  thick brush, up  rapidly drying creek
beds, over stony ground. But each time Gamma was able to stay with them.

They  rounded  a bend  and  saw two  sprawled  bodies, moving  slightly.
'They're worried,' Petr said, 'They're dumping their casualties.'

Mahim started forward. 'No!' Petr shouted. He sprayed a burst into  each
body. One was  knocked aside by  the impact, and  Njangu saw the  primed
explosive charge set under her, and then the charge blew, shredding  the
woman's corpse. 'Nice  try, but no  daggah,' Petr said,  and the pursuit
went on.

By dark, they were  high up on the  bluffs, and mist from  the Highlands
rolled down over them. Njangu  thought he was breathing fire,  his lungs
searing, and the rest were  gasping as loudly. 'Com,' Petr  ordered, and
Irthing, who was  carrying the set,  handed him a  mike. 'This is  Sibyl
Gamma. Scrambling.'  He touched  buttons on  the com.  The scrambler not
only ate power, but reduced broadcast range on the coms. 'Do you have me
marked?'

'Sibyl  Gamma,  this  is  Sibyl  Control,'  the  com  whispered. Kipchak
recognized  Hedley's voice.  He made  a quick  status report.  'I  think
they're holing  up for  the night.  Anyway, they  should unless  they're
brain-dead. Can you get me a sniffer in the air?'

'Affirm.'

'Don't hit them,' Kipchak ordered. 'I say again, don't hit them. Let  me
know if they move before first light. We've got them going, and I  think
they're heading for something solid.'

'This is Control,' Hedley said. 'Understood, will comply. But watch  it.
They could be planning a surprise.'

'This is Gamma. Understood. That's one reason I want the sniffer up,  to
give me a little early warning if they put the hounds out.'

'Understood.'

'Just give  me a  chance to  nail them  down, and  you'll have  your big
target. 'This is Gamma. Clear.'


Everyone, even revolutionaries, fall into the trap of routine. So it was
with the 'Raum. In  spite of their policy  of never meeting in  the same
house or village twice, or on the  same night, the huge cave at the  rim
of the Highlands had become a permanent headquarters. The tiny  entrance
was still  well guarded,  but now  there were  paths leading  to it. The
Movement's records, computers, coms were  centered there, and so it  was
necessary to garrison the outside of the cave. Other 'Raum units,  after
action, retreated there to report and get new instructions. Since it was
perfectly safe, they also lingered for a day or two, finding a chance to
relax, to raise their voices  above a whisper, to laugh  without looking
over their shoulders.

The cave's inner chamber held the  twenty men and women of the  Planning
Group,  plus  another fifteen  of  the 'Raum's  most  respected fighting
leaders. Comstock Brien stood by at an easel, with a Confederation-issue
map on it.

'This is  an excellent  opportunity to  hit the  Rentiers and their dogs
hard,' he said. 'That patrol is obviously a stalking horse. It's trailed
our unit for  several days, without  forcing contact. The  Force wants a
battle, and I think it should have it.'

Jo Poynton stood.  'Brother, what makes  you think that  we can outfight
the Confederation soldiers?'

'We have consistently  done so this  far,' he said.  'And their response
time with  reinforcements has  been miserably  slow. I've  put myself in
their commander's mind. He wants to draw some of us into the open.  He's
thinking perhaps we'll send out a hundred, maybe a hundred fifty men, so
he'll be prepared to respond with two or three hundred. Excellent  odds,
from his perspective. But what are the chances of the Force's unreliable
air-delivery vehicles being  able to put  a full three  hundred men into
the mountains? I would say very, very slim. Plus whatever vehicles  they
successfully  launch  can  be hit  by  the  antiaircraft missiles  we've
acquired. That should make them cautious.

'My plan is  simple: I have  three hundred troops  mustered outside this
cave. Our team is less than three hours distant. By dawn, we could reach
them and first  obliterate that patrol  with, say a  hundred men, giving
the patrol time enough to report the enemy strength. The Force will then
bring in reinforcements. Just when their men are landing, we'll hit them
with the rest of our fighters.

'I'll com immediately for another two hundred fighters from the regional
units in the area,  which will give us  overwhelming force. By the  time
the Force  realizes its  surprise assault  was expected,  the men on the
ground and, hopefully, a great  number of their combat vehicles  will be
destroyed. They will, of course, panic and counterattack with every man,
every vehicle remaining at Camp Mahan.

'But we will be gone, gone with more weapons, perhaps even some of their
vehicles if the  chance presents itself.  I've already set  a rendezvous
for any  seized aerial  vehicles to  be secreted  in the  middle of  the
Highlands, where the giptels will never look for them.

There  were  shouts of  approval.  Jord'n Brooks  stood.  'No,' he  said
loudly, and there was sudden silence. 'This is the worst, most dangerous
sort of adventurism. For you... not we, but you... are pinning the hopes
of the future, the struggle of years, on a single engagement. If we win,
that is marvelous. But if we lose, brother? What if we lose?'

Brien glowered. 'We shall not lose, brother. I know that. But let it not
sound like  this is  just my  decision, or  that I  am somehow trying to
become some sort of Supremo. Tell me, brothers, sisters. What should  we
do?'

Brooks listened to the shouts of 'Fight,'

'Hit them,'

'Yes!'

'Attack!' His face was still,  unmoving. 'Very well. Brother Brien,'  he
said. 'We shall attack. But I hope  the doom that comes will not be  for
all of us.'


'Oh my  aunt Fanny  who sitteth  on Buddha's  right frigging hand,' Cent
Angara said. 'Get your sorry ass off that cot, Hed-ley, and come look at
Nirvana.'

Hedley was instantly  beside the big  screen that relayed  data from the
Electronic Warning Grierson orbiting  a kilometer above the  'Raum team.
'Why kiss my money-making ass,'  Hedley said. 'Look at all  those little
red dots streaming along. We done sprung 'em out of the woodwork.'

'Sure as hell,' Angara agreed. 'Officer of the Watch!'

'Sir?'

'Get the Old Man up, and the troops moving. Full alert, ready to  launch
in three-zero minutes. Caud Williams'll give the attack order.'

Hedley was  at another  com. 'Roll  the pickup  team,' he  said. 'Get my
people off the ground.' He  changed channels. 'Golan Flight, I  need one
of your Zhooks for a quick-and-dirty. Hell yes, now. If I wanted them in
ten minutes, I would've called you in ten minutes. Direct  authorization
from Lance Actual.'

*   *   *

'Roll  out,'  Dill snapped.  'Gamma's  ready to  come  out. And  they're
warmish.' The hangar lights went full on, and Dill's crew jumped off the
cots set up beside their aircraft. Gorecki had his boots on, unfastened,
and  flopped his  way toward  the Grierson's  cockpit. The  hangar  door
lifted, and Camp Mahan was a  flare of activity as the Grierson's  drive
whined on.


'Sibyl Gamma, Sibyl  Gamma,' Hedley broadcast.  'This is Sibyl  Control.
Get 'em up and ready. You're coming out. The birds are in the open.'

'This is  Gamma,' Kipchak,  who never  seemed to  sleep, snapped.  'What
about the boys I've been chasing?'

'We'll do it sanitary from the air,' Hedley advised.

'They're mine, goddamit!'

'Not anymore, Petr. Now they belong to the meatgrinder.'

Ten minutes later, a Zhukov dived in on the 'Raum team half a  kilometer
from  the  Gamma  Team,  weapons systems  slaved  to  the  EW Grierson's
sensors, and a ripple-salvo of Furies spat. The Furies exploded, and the
small camp was a hell of flame. The Zhukov banked across the  holocaust,
came back,  35mm  chaingun  ravening,  the  vehicle  commander's  cupola
mounted 25mm spitting fire. All ten of the 'Raum patrol died before they
came awake.


The Grierson settled into  the tiny clearing, smashing  through branches
and small trees. The  back ramp dropped,  and yellow light,  honest, man
made light flared through the night.

'Mount  up.'  Kipchak  ordered, and  the  exhausted  survivors of  Gamma
stumbled into the Grierson. Kang and Dill passed out boiling hot  coffee
and heatpaks  containing a  fresh roll  stuffed with  wine-baked giptel,
mustard, pickle,  and a  fried egg  on top.  Garvin helped  Njangu to  a
bench, and he slumped down, unaware  he was still wearing his pack.  The
ramp closed, and there was blessed silence, and the Grierson lifted  out
of the jungle.

'You did it,' Garvin enthused. 'You got them into the open.'

'No shiteedah for sure?' Njangu said.

'No shiteedah for  sure. The whole  Force is gonna  roll on 'em.  You'll
probably get a medal after we obliterate them.'

'Probably,' Njangu  said, through  a double  mouthful. 'And  if I'm real
good, maybe a bath or even a fast hosing-off ?'

Garvin sniffed. 'Lord. Since you mention it, you folks do smell a little
ripe around the edges.'

Deb Irthing snickered. 'Like somebody pissed on us, maybe?'

'Not quite thatbad. But close.'

'Real close,' Njangu said, and took another bite.


'Very good  indeed,' Caud  Williams told  his regimental  commanders and
staff, staring at the screen. 'We'll put First Regiment in against these
troops in  the open  on the  left... Second  on the  right closing  in a
pincers,  then  Third  assaulting straight  into  that  base of  theirs,
whatever and wherever it is. Fourth will remain in reserve.'

Hedley  turned from  the photo  montage he  was studying,  took off  the
interpreter's tri-dee glasses. 'Sir?'

'What is it. Alt?'

'I think I've  got their base  spotted,' he said.  'I think it  might be
this area here. Tracks lead to this cliff face, and vanish. I think  our
goblins use a cave for their hideout.'

'What of it?'

'Caves can be hard to clean out.'

'Alt,' Williams said firmly, 'your people did a good job of finding  the
enemy. I'll take care of finishing them.'

Hedley inclined his head, didn't respond.


It took almost all of the Force's Griersons to load the combat  elements
of First  and Second  Regiments, and  the troop  compartments were still
crowded. The air was a staccato chatter of commands as the Griersons, in
three elements,  slashed low  to the  west of  Leggett, toward the 'Raum
columns. Their drive-hum  shrilled over the  jungle, and hunting  beasts
heard and scurried for cover.

Lead elements of the 'Raum  head the Griersons and ordered  antiaircraft
crews to the alert. These men  and women, still not familiar with  their
confiscated weapons, fumbled with the controls as the sound grew  louder
and the first wave could be seen, dots against the morning sky.

One Grierson was Ben Dill's-they'd barely had time to offload Gamma when
they  were ordered  to the  parade ground  to pick  up a  load of  First
Regiment  soldiers. 'Somebody's  looking for  us,' Finf  Kang  announced
calmly from her 'turret.'

'Scanning... scanning... he's got a lock.'

'Gorecki... maneuver on her command,' Dill ordered.

'You tell me. Ho,' Stanislaus said.

'Tracking... tracking... he's launched! Go low!'

The Grierson dived hard,  and Garvin tried to  ignore his stomach as  he
waited behind his weapon sights.

'Gunner,'  Kang said,  very calm,  'TA my  beam... I've  got the  launch
site...'

Garvin  switched  acquisition  systems  to  Kang's  antimissile tracker.
'Locked on,' he said.

'What about the frigging missile?' Gorecki snapped.

'It's still coming  on... still tracking...  Garvin, throw something  at
the launch site,' Kang ordered. 'Driver... hard left to nine  o'clock...
missile at three o'clock... incoming... climb hard!' The Grierson moaned
as Gorecki slammed full power. 'Ah-hah, little bastard, went and screwed
its mind,' Kang said.  'It's searching... blanking it...  blanking it...
gotcha! Missile toppled, skipper... Garvin, are you ever gonna shoot  at
anything? And  by the  way, you  owe me  a beer  for saying they weren't
gonna have anything trickshit for me to worry about.'

'Target acquired,' Garvin said, as his head banged against the sight and
water filled his eyes. 'Tracking... locked...'

'Launch when ready. Mister Gridley,' Ben Dill said.

'Launch one, launch two, launch  three... lost target... bring me  left,
more left, dammit,' Garvin snapped, and Stanislaus obeyed.

'Target acquired... launch  four... HOLY SHIT!'  Jaansma shouted as  the
jungle in his sight  turned flame, black, then  brown and cloudy and  he
saw equipment and men fountaining. 'Target destroyed.'

'Mister Jaansma,' Dill said. 'Watch your commo discipline.'

'Sorry, Ben. Searching...'

'Three minutes from LZ,' Gorecki said. 'Get the crunchies ready.'

'Searching,' Kang echoed Garvin. 'Searching...'


The first assault wave came out the back of their Gnersons into a  sheet
of fire.  They went  down, and  a few  stayed there.  SSWs and  blasters
returned the 'Raum fire, at first spattering, then a solid roar. Noncoms
bellowed orders... move, move, you sorry shitheads, get off this LZ  and
on them... stay here and die, you idiots... come on, move, move...

Soldiers were up, zigging, maneuver elements going forward, fire support
blasting at seen  targets or just  the area, and  the Force overran  the
'Raum's  forward  positions,   blasters,  rocket  launchers   stuttering
destruction.


'Where are the rest of our fighters?' Brien asked.

'Twenty  minutes,  perhaps  more,  away,'  the  woman  carrying  his com
reported.

'Too far. Tell them  to drop everything but  their weapons and ammo  and
come at the run, or we're lost.'

The woman nodded, touched her mike's sensor.


The Second Regiment hit an  unprotected flank, and the 'Raum  fell back,
re-formed. A few of  their fighters broke, ran,  and were cut down.  The
others firmed their resolve, and  continued fighting. There would be  no
mercy shown on either side on this battleground.


'Oh you  dumb sons  of bitches,'  the woman  aiming the  portable rocket
launcher gloated. 'Didn't anybody ever tell you about bunching up?'  She
pressed the stud and the rocket  hissed out of its tube and  exploded in
the middle of the 'Raum. A moment later, a 'Raum sniper saw her  weapon,
caught her in his range finder and fired. The round caught the rocketeer
in the  calf, and  she howled,  dropped her  weapon, and  rolled on  the
ground  in  agony.  Her  sometime  lover,  a  rifleman,  hesitated, then
followed orders and picked up her  heavier weapon and its ammo vest.  He
moved on, hoping the woman would get her med-pouch open, or there'd be a
medic, before she bled to death. He  shut off that part of his mind  and
looked for a target.


Dill's Grierson had  just cleared land,  going back for  another load of
troops,  when  it  bucked,  slewed  sideways  in  midair,  rolled  twice
drunkenly. Garvin heard  the drive cut  out, then start  again, then cut
out once more.

'Hang on, people,' Stan said. 'Trying to restart it.'

'Stand by for ditching,' Ben ordered. 'Ho, Garvin, out of your turrets.'
The two obeyed,  strapping themselves  down on  a troop  bench. 'Seventy
four meters above water,' Dill  reported. 'I'll try to pancake  the turd
in.'

The drive caught, hiccuped, then caught again, but whining shrilly, like
a high-speed motor with sand in its bearings.

'We're going  again on  sixty percent,'  Gorecki reported.  'But for how
long is crystal ball territory.'

'Remembering that  a Grierson,  sans power,  has the  glide pattern of a
brick,' Dill said, 'stay at  ditching stations. I'll try to  lumber this
prick to something a little solider than what's underneath us.'

Garvin listened to the drive  whine, break, whine, break, and  found his
lips moving. No, he thought. You are not praying. You do not believe  in
anything  more  than Garvin  Jaansma.  So stop  with  the stupid  prayer
already.

The Grierson, smoke  pouring from its  vents, limped over  the beach and
slammed  across  the  parade ground  at  seventy-five  knots, wallowing,
sliding, slewing from side to side.

Eventually the crashing  and slamming stopped.  Garvin opened his  eyes,
looked up  at Kang,  realized the  situation was  unusual, because she'd
been  across from  him when  he closed  his eyes  and the  bouncing  had
started. Dill  clambered from  the VC  compartment into  the troop  box,
yanked the manual hatch release, and the rear ramp fell away. 'Come on,'
he shouted.  'Griersons don't  burn, but  this one  just might. Outside,
outside, outside!'

Garvin punted Kang out in front  of him, jumped clear, ran to  the front
of  the  Grierson, and  pulled  Gorecki bodily  out  of his  compartment
through the emergency hatch. Not looking back, the four ran, bent  over,
then went flat. Eventually they realized there wasn't any explosion, any
fire, and lifted their heads to the accompaniment of onrushing sirens.

'Aren't they going to be all pissed off,' Garvin said, 'when there isn't
anybody bleeding for 'em?'

'Yes there  is,' Dill  said. 'See?  I scratched  my pinkie.  Medal time,
medal time, medal time!'


Four Cookes darted across the smoking jungle, autocannons roaring, and a
'Raum counterattack hesitated, broke. They spun, blasted the area again,
and caught two AA missile crews in the open.


'Cambrai  Leader,  got  a  whole bunch  more  of  them,'  an electronics
Grierson reported. 'Humping like they're late for something. Passing the
target along to you.'

'Thank you. Big Eye. Guess they're afraid they'll be late for the ball.'
The Zhukov  commander switched  channels. 'All  Chambrai elements...  we
have a big target. Men  in the open... looks like  reinforcements. We'll
use main arty, finish them with the chainguns. Let's go collect us  some
heads.'

The four  Zhukovs dived  on the  'Raum, and  collision alarms  screamed.
Their pilots pulled control wheels back into their laps, and the Zhukovs
shuddered,  nearly stalling,  as five  alien ships  flashed out  of  the
cloud-cover over the  Highlands. They were  scythe-shaped, the curve  of
the C forward, about  twenty-five meters from horn  to horn. On the  top
and bottom of the ships were pods, each containing one prone Musth.  The
Musth called  them  aksai, after  a  snakelike creature  of  their  home
worlds, known for viciousness and lethality.

The standard watch frequency came  to life: 'It isss perceived  you have
isssolated   our   mutual  enemiesss.   Perhapsss   we  ssshould   offer
asssistance.'

Without waiting for a response, the Musth ships rolled into the  attack.
At the horns of  each aksai air ionized,  and a line seared  into flame.
The ships sprayed fire across the 'Raum formation, then again.

The Zhukov pilots  recovered, came back.  But there was  few targets for
their 150mm autocannon except roaring fire, as everything, trees, brush,
men, and women, even, it seemed, the ground itself, burned.

'It isss good to sssee the wormsss burn, isss it not?'


'Shit,' a rifleman said. 'I don't see anything left to kill.'

'Nope,' his teammate said. 'Guess we-'

'There's one,' the other interrupted. A 'Raum got out of a shell  crater
and stumbled toward  them. He was  holding something against  his chest,
and shouting  incoherently. Both  infantrymen fired,  and the  body spun
sideways,  lay  still.  'Wonder  if  he  was  carrying  anything   worth
souveniring?' the first asked.

'Let's go check-'

The  explosives  the  'Raum  carried  blew  up,  and  the  two  soldiers
flattened. Dirt rained,  and the two  stared at each  other. 'That guy,'
the first soldier said thoughtfully, 'took things way too serious.'


Comstock Brien picked himself up, wiped blood from his eyes. There  were
no more than  fifteen or twenty  of his fighters  still moving, and  all
were wounded.  His com  carrier was  unconscious, blood  spurting from a
severed artery. He picked up her mike. 'Base, this is Brien.'

There was a crackle, then: 'This is  base. What is going on? I tried  to
contact you twice, without result.'

'This is Brien. Don't know. Some kind of shell hit us.' Brien wiped  his
face again. 'We are surrounded. Are there any reinforcements? Are  there
any more reinforcements?'


Jord'n  Brooks looked  around the  cave at  the thirty  men and   women,
touched the  com's sensor.  'There are  no more  reinforcements. Can you
break  away?'  Silence,  then:  'No. We  are  trapped.'  Again  a pause.
'Brooks... this  is Brien.  You were  right.' Brooks  looked at Poynton,
grimaced. 'I wish I wasn't.'

'This was one ending, but  a beginning, too,' Brien's voice  said. 'Now,
it is your Task to see it to its end. Don't mourn for us, Jord'n Brooks.
See that we did not die in vain.' The com went silent.

'You heard him,' Brooks said.  'I want you... you... you...'  He pointed
around the cave at  ten people. 'Your Task  is with the guards  outside,
holding back the enemy, for they will be attacking in minutes. Fight  to
the last, and keep them from following us. The rest of you... take  what
records, what files  you can carry.  Be ready to  move in five-'  A bomb
blast  outside  rocked  the  cave.  'No,  three  minutes.  Take  what is
essential. For we are now the heart of the 'Raum, heart of The Movement,
heart of the Revolution, and we must not fail.'


The Force swept across the battlefield, found only a handful of  wounded
to take prisoner, and some of those suicided or made soldiers kill them.
One might have been Comstock Brien,  for one soldier said a wounded  man
with a  livid scar  played dead,  then shot  three soldiers before being
killed himself. But when II  Section realized who the tenacious  warrior
might have been and went back, no trace of his body was ever found.

Force  casualties  were  comparatively  light-fewer  than   seventy-five
killed, twice that wounded, for almost five hundred 'Raum killed.

'Now  we  take  their  base,'  Williams  ordered.  The  Third  Regiment,
augmented by I&R  Company, started forward,  a little cockily,  sure the
battle was over, and fire sheeted. Four officers were down in the  first
blasts,  and half  again as  many noncoms.  They fell  back,  regrouped,
attacked once more, and again the 'Raum drove them back.

'All right,' Caud Williams  said. 'If they want  it the hard way...  Mil
Rao, we'll use Zhukovs to reduce their base from the air.'

'Sir, if we could take some prisoners, it would be-'

'Alt Hedley, you can do your  scavenging among the dead after the  smoke
clears,' Williams  said furiously.  'I will  not lose  another of my men
uselessly. And  I'd advise  you to  hold your  tongue, for  the goodwill
you've gained by finding these 'Raum is being rapidly dissipated.'

Hedley started to say something, turned and stamped out of

Williams' command vehicle.

*   *   *

'Hey,  Monique,'  a  Beta  Team/in/called.  'The  boss  wasn't whistlin'
through his burn. There is a cave.'

'Team forward,'  Dec Lir  ordered. 'Two  volunteers, with  me. The rest,
blow the shit  out of anything  that moves.' Blaster  ready, she entered
the dimness of the cave. Smoke billowed, and she coughed, came back out.
'Anybody got a light?' Someone tossed her one, and Lir pulled on her gas
mask, went back  inside. Her light  played around the  rocks. There were
half a dozen  corpses, all killed  by blast, none  appearing hurt except
for slight trickles of blood from their ears and mouth.

'Come on in,' she shouted.  'We got them all. Goddammit,  that horseshit
Kipchak had all  the fun.' She  moved the light  more slowly around  the
chamber, across the  stacks of paper,  fiches, and shattered  computers.
'But I think we got a ton  and a half of good shit ourselves,'  she said
to herself. 'II Section's gonna come all over themselves.'


The five Musth ships landed beside Caud Williams' C&C Grierson. A center
pod on one opened, and Wiencing got out. Two armed Musth flanked him, as
he stalked across the waste to Williams. The caud saluted, and  Wiencing
lifted a clawed arm in acknowledgment.

'Finally,' he said,  without preamble,  'you have  defeated thessse  not
worthiesss. Perhapsss, when  the time comesss,  and we make  war on each
other, you will not be a helplesss babe.'

Caud Williams could not find a response.

'With thisss,' Wiencing continued, 'you  will be able to sss-masssh  the
remainsss of thessse?'

'I hope so,' Williams said. 'I think we will.'

'Good,'  Wiencing  approved.  'It  isss not  fit  for  the  grown to  be
dissstracted by cubssss.'


That night, the surviving 'Raum found shelter in a village. The  nervous
farmers reluctantly fed them.

'Don't worry,' Jord'n Brooks said. 'We are not remaining here, but  will
leave within the hour.'

Within two  days, they  would reach,  and disappear  into, Eck-muhl, the
'Raum district of  Leggett, and the  war would continue,  but on another
front.

Njangu Yoshitaro, Petr  Kipchak, Erik Penwyth,  and the others  of Gamma
Team slept through that gore-drenched day, and if they dreamed of  blood
or slaughter, none of them remembered their dreams when they awoke, late
the next day.



CHAPTER 30

'Should I tell  you what I'm  wearing underneath this  jumpsuit?' Jasith
whispered.

'Not unless  you want  me to  explode all  over your windshield,' Garvin
said, a bit hoarsely.                           '

'My windshield  doesn't want  that,' she  said. 'So  concentrate on  the
scenery. For a minute, anyway. See... there's my house down there.'

Garvin forced his eyes... and his attention... out the canopy. He looked
down at a  tall buttress nearly  in the center  of the Heights  that had
evidently been hollowed out-large glass windows and balconies dotted its
face. 'Which one is yours?'

'All of them, silly. All those rooms are connected, plus there's  others
that're completely under... not ground, but rock. But none of those  are
mine mine. My place is over there.' She cut power, and pushed the lifter
into a gentle descent. They closed on a huge abandoned mining site,  now
overgrown with flowers and plants iridescing the colors of paradise.  In
its center, next  to a fountained  pool, was a  fairly small house,  all
dark wood.

'That used to be a quarry,'  she explained. 'One of the first  things my
great-how-many-times  grandfather  owned.  It  produced  a  multicolored
veined rock, like granite,  and it was a  great favorite when the  early
Rentiers started  building their  mansions. I  guess the  Mellusins have
always been miners,  even back on  Corwin VIII, which  is where we  came
from.

'The quarry made grand-whatever even richer, and then he started  buying
great chunks ofC-Cumbre  and other things.  But he built  his house near
where he  started. Then  the vein  played out,  and the  quarry just sat
there, until my mother  married my father. She  was a Kemper, and  their
money's from  holding companies,  so she  always thought  she was better
than my father. At least, that's  what I heard, even though Daddy  never
snides her. She died about ten years ago.'

'I'm sorry,' Garvin said.

'Don't be,' Jasith said. 'I never thought she liked me very much, and  I
guess I must've been a brat and returned the favor. Anyway, she's  gone,
and so it doesn't matter. She took a look at that quarry, after she  and
Daddy got back from their honeymoon, and said she wanted to turn it into
a garden. She  and about  three hundred  'Raum she  had Daddy  hire full
time. She built a little house on the shore of the lake, that's supposed
to be  a copy  of something  called a  teahouse from  ancient Earth, and
spent time there. When she wasn't buying things, anyway. She was gone  a
lot when I was growing up. She went to Larix a lot. I don't know if  she
had a lover there, or if the  stores on Larix have better toys. I  guess
it wasn't much of a marriage.

'When she died, I asked if I could have the house, and Daddy gave it  to
me for my sixteenth  birthday. And the garden,  too. I still have  about
seventy-five gardeners working for me on the grounds. What's the matter,
Garvin?'

'Nothing, nothing,'  Garvin said.  'That was  just the  sound of my mind
boggling. So  you live  down there,  all by  yourself? And Daddy doesn't
happen to have  a spy-beam on  your front door  or anything? Or  has the
servants bribed?'

'I don't know about any  spy-beams,' Jasith said. 'That only  happens in
romances, anyway.'

'I wouldn't put large credits on that,' Garvin said.

'Of course he bribed my servants. But  I've got my own trust fund, so  I
bribed them bigger.'

'The  very  rich  aren  't like  you  and  me,'  Garvin murmured.  'Just
sneakier. Can I make a suggestion?'

'Of course.'

'Land this  baby, or  else we're  liable to  find ourselves bumping into
range shacks again. I feel a certain set of urges coming on.'

'Anything you want,0arvin. Absolutely anything.'

*   *   *

'Oh dear,' Jasith said. 'I'm afraid  my head gardener's going to be  hot
at me tomorrow. And I'll bet my back is all moss-stained and nasty  like
your knees.'

'You're  the  one  who wanted  to  show  me the  garden  instead  of the
bedroom,' Garvin said.

'But I didn't think you were that impatient.'

'Now you know.  Still am, in  fact.' Garvin moved  his hips, and  Jasith
gasped. 'You're ready already?'

'I never  stopped being  ready,' he  said into  her ear.  'Now lift your
legs... slowly. Hook your ankles around my back.'

'Like...  like this?...  oh... oh...  Garvin, not  so hard...  please...
slowly now... now, yes now... oh gods, gods, gods...'


The restaurant, deep in  the heart of the  Eckmuhl, had only two  things
recommending it: It had an entrance  on each of four streets; and  those
streets,  unlike  most  in  the  Eckmuhl,  had  excellent  line-of-sight
perspectives for lookouts. There were two  at each exit, armed with  mil
issue blasters. A police patrol- three lifters, as was customary in  the
Eckmuhl-saw the gun guards and sensibly kept on going.

There were seventeen men and women in the restaurant, all armed.  Jord'n
Brooks and Jo Poynton  sat at a table  in front of them.  'We shall make
this brief, brothers and sisters,' he began. 'This location can only  be
considered  secure  for  minutes.  You  seventeen  are  the  most highly
regarded  warriors and  agents who  survived the  disastrous and  poorly
advised jungle campaign. I want to form the new Planning Group, for  you
to be The Movement's sohs if you will. A few of you were members of  the
previous Group, and I request you continue to serve.'

A 'Raum stood.

'Yes, Brother Ybarre?'

'This  is very  irregular, brother.  According to  custom, the  Planning
Group  should  be selected  by  the fighters,  after  due consideration,
prayer, and discussion.'

'In normal times, true,' Brooks agreed. 'But these are not normal times.
I cannot  emphasize that  too highly.  We took  heavy casualties  in the
forest and  when we  relocated to  the cities.  What are your estimates.
Sister Poynton?'

'About forty percent,' the woman said. 'That's an estimate, but I  think
pretty close to the truth.'

There was a low murmur of dismay. Brooks nodded. 'Exactly. I do not wish
that figure to be spread  about, for fear of further  destroying morale.
We were beaten badly  by the Rentiers' dogs.  Let us never forget  that,
and let  us never  make the  mistake of  thinking the  Task is completed
until we see real victory.

'Our fight will be, must be, in  the heart of the enemy. We will  strike
them hard, and take any target  that we find. But these targets  must be
risk-free. If we are to be hit as hard again as we have been, I fear the
Task may  lie uncompleted  this generation,  and will  have to  wait for
another generation of warriors to rebuild The Movement.

'I will not allow this to happen. We must practice patience and cunning,
and we also must move swiftly. Time  is of the essence. Let me tell  you
our new  grand strategy:  I propose  the Grand  Rising shall occur soon.
Very soon. Within the next six months, in fact.' There were exclamations
of shock, surprise. 'Yes, brothers and sisters. The day is at hand  when
we shall grasp power.  We shall not fail  this time. Before the  year is
out, Cumbre will belong to us.'


'You're 'Raum, right?' Njangu asked.

'What makes you think that?' the girl asked.

'My suspicious mind,' he said. 'Well?'

'What if I am?'

'Then I'd ask why you're so interested in a stinking soldier like me?'

'Why shouldn't I be?'

'Oh, I  don't know...  could have  something to  do with  loud bangs and
people getting hurt and nonessential things like that,' Yoshitaro  said.
'Or have you been in a timewarp for the last year or so?'

'I don't pay any attention to politics,' the girl pouted.

''Kay,' Njangu  said. 'Now,  my next  question... since  you're on  the,
shall we say, youthful-looking side, might I ask if you're over the  age
of consent?'

'Is all you soldiers do is talk?'

'Not at all,' Njangu said,  leaning closer and whispering in  the girl's
ear. Her eyes got wide.

'You talk dirty! And what's a bunny rabbit?'

'Never mind. Do you want to dance some more?'

'Uh-uh,' the girl said. 'Let's go for a walk. My name's Limnea.'

'And I'm Njangu the Adequately Equipped.' Njangu stood, dropped coins on
the table, and put his service cap on. 'Where are we strolling to?'

'Down on the beach, maybe?'

'Sounds as  good a  place as  any to  get mugged,'  he said. The blaring
music chopped suddenly when the  insulated door closed behind them.  The
night was brilliant-all three moons were up. A breeze came off the  bay,
and Njangu shivered.  The girl,  who was  wearing a  pair of  green silk
looking pants  that flared  hugely at  the leg,  supported by suspenders
that  served to  hide the  nipples of  her firm,  fairly large  breasts,
appeared  to feel  no cold.  She had  close-cropped red  hair, and   her
eyelids, lips,  nails and  earlobes were  tinted blue.  Njangu eyed her,
looked at the softly romantic shoreline, at the colorful beached fishing
boat they were walking toward, and wished he had a pistol.

'So what do  you do with  the Force?' Limnea  asked. 'Not much,'  Njangu
said. 'Push papers back and forth. Make sure people get paid on time.'

'Oh.' Limnea sounded disappointed. 'I thought you were one of those like
I've seen on the holos. You know, carrying a gun and things like that.'

'Not me,' Njangu said. 'Loud noises terrify me.' They reached the  boat,
and Njangu leaned back against it,  Limnea beside him. 'You can take  it
as a compliment  if you want,'  he said, 'or  not, but you  remind me of
some of the girls I used to clique with.'

'What's that mean?'

'Not a lot,' he said. 'And maybe I'm wrong. I'd sure like to be.' He put
his hands on Limnea's hips, moved her in front of| him, pulled her  back
against him.

'Isn't it pretty?' she said.

'Mmm-hmm,' he said, hands moving around and around on her belly.

'That feels good,' she  said softly. He moved  his hands up, cupped  her
breasts, tweaked her nipples with  his fingers. She sighed, turned,  put
her arms around him. Her tongue darted into his mouth.

Limnea's open eyes flickered, and  Njangu threw her into the  man coming
at him with a knife. She squealed, fell to the sand. The roan slashed at
Njangu, and Yoshitaro bent backward. The man recovered, tried a  thrust,
and Yoshitaro grabbed his wrist with his left hand, yanked him down, and
snapped a knee up into the man's rib cage. Bones snapped loudly, and the
man gagged and fell. Njangu kicked  him in the face, and scooped  up his
knife as the second man came in. Yoshitaro slashed, and the man  yelped,
pulled his bleeding guard arm back.

The two  fenced for  an instant,  then Njangu  reversed his  grip on the
blade,  jumped to  the side  and smashed  a fist  into the  man's  neck,
snapped his hand back, swinging the blade out and ripping the man's face
open. The man stumbled sideways, blade whipping back and forth,  keeping
Njangu off.

Njangu waved  his knife  flashily, the  man's eyes  flickered to it, and
Njangu stamp-kicked the man's instep. The man grunted, lunged at Njangu,
who sidestepped, and  slashed the man's  wrist open. Blood  sprayed, and
the man gasped, clutched his  fountaining wound. Njangu kicked him  very
hard in the solar plexus. His attacker gagged, folded, went flat.

'I hate being  right sometimes,' he  said. Limnea was  running hard down
the beach.  He went  after her,  caught up  with her  in a dozen meters,
knocked her sprawling. She rolled over, looked up at him. He still  held
the knife.

'How did you know?'

'That you weren't  just interested in  my fair white  young body? Easy,'
Njangu said. 'The only time a  soldier walks in a bar and  the prettiest
girl spots him and has to jump his bones is in the holos. Mostly we  end
up  paying for  it, or  with a  skunk, or  pounding our  puds after  the
money's  been  spent   buying  some  who-gives-a-shit   honey  champagne
cocktails. Plus you were a little obvious.'

'Don't kill me,' she said. 'Please.'

'Why  not? You  would've let  your two  goons kill  me' Yoshitaro   said
reasonably. 'Now answer my question. You're 'Raum?'

Limnea nodded jerkily.

'Were  you  and your  friends  interested in  robbery?  Or just  a  dead
Forceman?'

Limnea didn't answer.

'I'll  guess  the  last,  you debonair  revolutionary  you.  So  now the
question becomes, what should I do  now? Scream shrilly in the key  of C
for a  cop?' Limnea's  eyes were  wide in  fear. 'I've  heard rumors the
noble Policy and Analysis policemen have some interesting  interrogation
techniques with 'Raum suspects,' he said. 'Particularly female ones.'

'Please,' Limnea whispered.                          ,

'Please my left testicle,' Njangu said. 'You wouldn't have shown me  any
mercy, now would you?'

'They might not have killed you,' she said.

'Yeh. And I'm the Queen of Sheba.' He looked around. 'Get up.'

She obeyed, eyes fixed on him, and on the knife.

'See those rocks over there? Go on over.'

She obeyed.

'Very well,'  he said.  'Negotiations can  begin. It's  either the cops,
or... ? Remembering that a good revolutionary always knows how to  think
on her knees.'

Very slowly, she slid the  suspenders from her shoulders, let  them fall
to the side. She undid a fastening, and her pants pooled about her feet.
She wore only matching briefs, pulled them down and was naked.

'An excellent start. Now, come here.'

She came toward  him. Her breath  was coming faster,  and her lips  were
slightly parted.

'When we were interrupted so rudely, you were doing something with  your
tongue,' he said.

Limnea kissed  him, and  her hands  fumbled with  his belt, his trousers
snaps. She pulled her lips from his. 'We have a saying,' she said.  'The
one who completes his Task is rewarded.'

'Or, to the  victor belong the  spoils,' Njangu said.  He looked at  the
knife in his hand, sent it spinning, a silver circle splashing into  the
water. He began unfastening his shirt.

'No,' she said. 'When you do it to me, I want to feel your medals,  want
them to dig into me.  But first, I must be  on my knees, as you  ordered
me.'

*   *   *

The  'Raum hit  post offices  in half  a dozen  cities across  D-Cumbre,
including  two  in Leggett.  The  raiders knew  just  what they  wanted,
exploding safes for the credits inside, and all official  correspondence
for its intelligence values. There were only two 'Raum casualties,  both
minor, and  they were  gone with  the other  raiders by  the time police
units arrived.

PlanGov responded  by suspending  habeas corpus-suspects  could be held,
without trial,  for as  long as  two months.  Special internment centers
were set up on outer islands and were quickly filled.

Governor General Haemer announced a new identity card would be issued to
all 'Raum. After a certain date,  anyone without a card or with  the old
identification was subject to immediate arrest. This would force the men
and women of The Movement into the open. Or so was the theory.

The Rentiers'  Council voted  to levy  a two-million-credit  fine on the
entire  'Raum community,  for sheltering  criminals and  dissidents  and
failing to  support the  properly constituted  government, but  Governor
Haemer vetoed the measure.

The men and women of the Heights muttered angrily-the Confederation,  or
what was left of it,  clearly was soft, spineless. Firm  measures needed
to be taken at once.

Policemen patrolled in at least pairs, frequently more, and wore  combat
vests, ballistic armor, and many carried mil-issue blasters.


There  were  three  of  them  at  the  door  of  the  shabby tenth-floor
apartment. The odor of cooking, too many bodies, sweat, and grease  hung
heavy around them. Two  paid no mind-they were  'Raum of the cities  and
had grown up in the stink. The  third, who'd come in from a farm  as The
Movement ordered, fought nausea.

The woman  who opened  the door  had a  baby on  her hip, and two little
girls clamored behind her. They saw the guns, shrank back.

'Sister, we come from The  Movement,' the man said. 'There's  nothing to
fear. We are here to collect  your identity card, and the cards  of your
household.'

'But... what will we do without them?'

'Nothing will happen,' the man said. 'Every 'Raum has been ordered to do
this.'

'Oh,' the woman said. 'So if no one has a card...'

'Exactly,'  the  man said.  'We  all stand...  or  die... together.  You
understand our struggle better than most.'

'I'll get ours,' the woman said. 'Be sure and knock hard next door.  The
old woman there is very deaf.'


'There is great  concern on our  homeworldsss,' System-Leader Aesc  told
Governor  Haemer,  'about  your  ability  to  maintain  peace  in thisss
sssystem since contact with your Confederation has been lossst.'

'You know about that?' Haemer said, undiplomatically. The holo image  of
Aesc  and Wiencing  shifted slightly,  firmed as  the transmission  beam
relocked.

'Ofcourssse,' Aesc said. 'You ssshould be aware that there are variousss
factionsss, I believe isss the word, in our Empire, and their  desssired
policiesss are not necesssssarily the onesss currently in effect.'

'The Ssssytem-Leader meansss,'  War Leader Wiencing  interrupted, 'there
are thossse in the homeworldsss who would like to intervene here in  the
Cumbre  system, and  gift you  with what  might be  called a   caretaker
government. At leassst until your Confederation returnsss, at which time
proper gratitude can be expresssed.'

Haemer  could not  detect any  human emotion  such as  maliciousness  or
irony. He noticed Aesc look swiftly at his war leader, then away. 'I  am
sorry,' he said, 'but I am getting mixed signals. Don't you Musth  share
a common viewpoint?'

Wiencing started to say something, but Aesc interrupted. 'Our waysss are
not that unlike yoursss,' he said. 'We rule by concensssusofall.'

'But sometimesss,' Wiencing put in, 'the common agreement changesss when
a new reality presssents itssself.'

'Is that happening now?'

Wiencing and Aesc exchanged looks, didn't answer.


'Great God, what a mess,'  Loy Kouro exclaimed. 'Isn't it  just,' Police
Major Gothian agreed. 'We figure there's at least a million ID cards all
melted together.  Probably more.  I guess  every goddamned  'Raum on   D
Cumbre had a gun put to his head, and the P&A Team on C-Cumbre says  the
miners there did the same thing.'

Kouro walked  around the  pile of  melted plas  in front  of the  police
station. 'No one saw them dump it off?'

'No one's admitted to it yet,' Gothian said. 'We're still  interrogating
the night shift and the neighbors.'

'Why'd they do something absurd like this?'

Gothian  started to  snap something,  stopped. No  matter how  thick,  a
publisher's son was treated gently. 'If none of the 'Raum have  identity
cards,' Gothian explained, 'then our identity checks are useless.'

'Oh,'  Kouro  said. 'Diabolical.  Truly  diabolical. What  will  be your
countermeasures?'

Gothian hesitated, unwilling to admit  that no one had devised  one yet.
'My Policy and  Analysis team is  studying the matter  right now, and  a
decision will be imminent,' he said.

'Good. Very good. We've got to nip these bandits in the bud,' Kouro said
ineptly.  'You may  rest assured  that nothing  of this  matter will  be
reported in Matin.'

'That's exactly why I asked you to drop by,' Gothian said. 'That, and to
see if I might buy you a meal.'

'Never  averse to  that,' Kouro  said. 'But  I think  it would  be  more
appropriate for  me to  stand treat.  You, after  all, are  in the front
lines of the struggle, and should be honored as best I can.'

Gothian blinked, unwilling to believe anyone actually talked like  that,
then smiled acceptance.


'Hey, Yoshitaro!  Don't you  ever pick  up yourfriggin'  mail?' the  I&R
Company clerk asked.

Njangu braked in considerable  amazement. 'Nope,' he said.  'Nobody ever
writes me. I'm awwl aaa-lone in the world.'

'Write, flight, spite. Somebody sent you a package.'

'Oh yeh? From where?'

'Now do  I have  time to  read the  return addresses  of every  piece of
mail?' the clerk asked. 'Of course not...just the ones that smell pretty
or have  dirty suggestions  on the  disc cover.  C'mon, troop.  Get your
goodies.'

''Kay,' Njangu said. 'You know anybody at II Section who's got an  X-ray
machine?'

*   *   *

'Well dip me in chocolate and call me turd,' Kipchak said, examining the
pistol closely. It was a mankiller, a variable-aperture blaster of  cold
gray alloy, as deadly as it looked. 'Who's your unknown admirer?'

'Damfino,' Njangu said. 'There was nothing in the package, other than  a
piece of paper with a com number.'

Kipchak looked at the pistol even more closely.

'I think I got some advice for you,' he said.

'Already taken,'  Njangu said.  'After II  Section X-rayed  the box  and
didn't find anything  boomish in it,  I had the  armorer take the  piece
apart looking for  fiendish thingies inside.  Nothing. He said  it was a
perfectly  standard  Marley.  About four  hundred  credits  on the  open
market. Then we took it  out to the range, bolted  it up in a vise,  and
ran a string  to the trigger.  Shoots like a  sumbeech,' he said.  'Dead
nuts on.'

Kipchak turned the weapon over and over. 'You try the com number?'

'Not yet. But I'm sure thinking about it. Maybe this is a new way to get
in my shorts.'

The door to Njangu's room banged open, and Garvin bounced in. 'Hey, look
what somebody sent me!' He held up a pistol identical to Njangu's.


Over the next week, about fifty Force soldiers got packages, of  various
shapes and configurations. All contained identical pistols, and the same
com number. Some recipients were in I&R Company, including Petr Kipchak.


''Kay,' Hedley said, 'so that's  it with these flipping popguns?  You're
the big-time Intelligence analyst.'

'To  reassure  you  that your  view  of  me as  a  potential  messiah is
accurate,'  Cent  Angara said,  'I  do, in  fact,  have an  explanation.
They're bait.'

'What sort of flipping bait?'

'The people who got them,' Angara said, 'are either recent enlistees  or
people who've had a bit of trouble adjusting to military life. Some have
been in the motivational platoon, two  or three in the brig for  various
offenses. Quite a  few of your  I&R people, by  the way. All  good field
soldiers, though.'

'What happens,' Hedley asked, 'when they dial that flipping com number?'

'I don't know,' Angara said. 'There's somebody e-monitoring, and they're
fairly good, because I haven't been able to get a response other than  a
synthed voice  that says  'Go ahead,  I'm listening.'  Evidently I'm not
saying the right things, nor is anybody I've conned into punching up the
number. I  had Planetary  Police's Policy  and Analysis  techs check the
line quietly, and the goddamned thing's got about six bounces, so nobody
knows where the base station really is, and if we dig any harder,  it'll
most likely self-destruct. But I can tell you what happens when somebody
does say whatever the monitoring wants to hear. Eight of the people  who
got pistols have deserted.'

'Deserted? Not just gone on a spree?' Hedley asked.

'Vanished clean. The  MPs tracked two  of them to  the 'rail station.  A
ticket clerk said he saw a  good-looking soldier open a locker and  take
out a  package. She  went into  the women's  'fresher, and  came out  in
civvies.'

'Oh flipping really?'

'Yeh,' Angara said. 'He remembered which  bank the locker was in, so  we
grabbed a couple  of P&A types,  and quite illegally  opened all of  the
lockers. One  had a  rolled-up uniform  in it  that had  been issued  to
Striker Mol  Trengue, who  is currently  carried on  the books as absent
over leave. I  looked at  her holo  on the  roster. Real  pretty. Sniper
rated, too.'

'Pretty good sign,' Hedley said,  'that somebody doesn't plan on  coming
back when they  leave the monkey  suit behind. So  somebody's collecting
flipping deserters?'

'Looks like.'

'Who?'

'Dunno.'

'Why?'

'Dunno that either.'


The four old  women had worked  together, cleaning offices  in Leggett's
business  district, for  years. They'd  gone to  each other's  weddings,
birth ceremonies,  manhood rituals,  Task-divinings, taken  care of each
other's children and  grandchildren. They lived  within a block  of each
other in the Eckmuhl, and walked  the three kilometers to and from  work
together each day. Their chatter stopped for a moment as a police lifter
cruised past-like the other 'Raiim in their district, they'd  obediently
surrendered their cards  when The Movement  ordered. The lifter  passed,
and they talked on, of this and that.

A battered lighter, cargo space covered by a canvas tarp lifted out of a
narrow  street  and  came  after the  women.  One  noticed  the lighter,
creeping slowly after them, was  about to say something when  the canvas
fell away.  Two men,  one woman  stood there,  wearing dark clothing and
hoods, and holding military Squad Support Weapons with drum magazines.

The  woman  started to  scream,  but it  was  too late  as  the blasters
shattered the eariy-moming quiet. Bodies were smashed against the office
wall next to  them, blood spattering  in a grotesque  spray. The lighter
lifted nearly straight  up, against traffic  regulations, banked over  a
rooftop, and disappeared, leaving a scattering of leaflets in its  wake.
They were all the same:

'RAUM!

The People of Cumbre

Have Taken Enough

You Have Nurtured The Serpents

At Your Breast Long Enough.

Now Is The Time of Change

Reject Their Tyranny

Help Us Destroy Them

Or

We Will Destroy You

The Committee for Peace

Eleven more 'Raum,  none with any  known involvement with  The Movement,
were slaughtered that  day, and the  same leaflets scattered  over their
bodies.


The people of Leggett, known for  dark humor, dubbed the killers of  the
Committee 'beards.'  If questioned  why beards,  the answer  was because
none of the assassins appeared to have them. It was the best... and only
joke as the dry season ground on, and the killings continued. Some 'Raum
quit their jobs and huddled in the Eckmuhl or other 'Raum ghettos across
the planet. Others had their jobs terminated, for no citizen of D-Cumbre
wanted to chance being in a crossfire if someone came for 'their' 'Raum.
Police seemed unable to arrest any  of the beards, or find any  leads to
the mysterious organization and its leaders.


Now D-Cumbre's cities flashed with violence. Not only Leggett, but Aire,
Seya,  Taman City,  Launceston, Kerrier  saw robberies,  assassinations,
intimidation of officials. Caud Williams broke the always-unlucky Fourth
Regiment into independent companies, each to a city, generally barracked
in the main police compounds. But there were never enough soldiers-  the
Force,  badly  undermanned,  now  was  spread  thin.  Williams privately
thought too thin.


The five men came through the  door with a rush, guns leveled.  Jasith's
store manager  boss squeaked  and fainted.  'No one  moves,' the  leader
said.

Jasith held up her hands, and the other three clerks followed her  lead.
She took a slow step sideways, and two guns were aimed at her.

'Don't even  think about  that alarm,'  the first  man warned.  'The one
that's about two steps to your  left.' Jasith froze. 'We know where  all
six of the alarms are,' he continued. 'Touch one, and you'll die. All we
want is the cashbox... and which of you is Jasith Mellusin?'

Jasith licked suddenly dry lips. 'I... I am,' she said reluctantly.

'You're coming with us for a while,' the man said. 'You'll be  assisting
The Movement. Your father'll pay-' Very suddenly his head exploded,  and
he pinwheeled, falling,  his finger clenched  on the trigger,  and bolts
shattered   mannequins,  dressing-room   mirrors.  Jasith's   bodyguard,
standing  in the  doorway to  the break  room, swung  his pistol  toward
another 'Raum, was gunned down. The bodyguard's teammate pushed over his
partner's body, was killed before he could level his pistol.

Jasith went flat. She heard  shouts, more shots. She noticed  an earring
she'd thought lost a week earlier  on the floor about a centimeter  from
her nose. 'Break off!' she heard someone shout. 'Away from here!'

A police lifter cruising the boulevard heard the shots, and its two cops
jumped out, one keying the  automatic DISTRESS code. The four  'Raum ran
out of the lingerie shop, and the cops saw them. One fired, missing, and
was shot down. The other officer knelt, and fired back. The 'Raum dashed
down the street, shooting wildly at anything or anyone that moved. A boy
about ten, a 'Raum window cleaner, ran out of a doorway and was killed.

Another police lifter spun around the corner, and three policemen, armed
with blasters,  came out.  The 'Raum  went down  an alley,  onto another
street. Halfway down  the street was  an old stone  building, a bankrupt
gymnasium.


'We  have  estimated four  suspects,'  the police  com  said tonelessly.
'They're inside  the old  Silver Exertorium.  One officer  down. Request
heavy support.'

'On the way. Force also notified.'


The Grierson  was armored,  black with  a POLICE  EMERGENCY TEAM  on the
side. A gunner sat in the open hatch, behind a 25mm autocannon, sweeping
back and forth, looking for a target. The Grierson's back ramp  dropped,
and two platoons of Special Tactics police ran out, bulky in body armor,
combat vest,  military helmet  and blasters.  Officers shouting  orders,
they took position around the gymnasium.

'We getting any fire?' a police noncom asked.

'Nothin' so far.'

'Good. We got 'em pinned,' the other said. 'Second Squad... we'll go for
the main entrance.'

The ten  policemen came  into the  open, as  a window  of the  gymnasium
smashed and an SSW's barrel poked out; blaster fire boomed. Cops  ducked
for shelter,  or screamed  and went  down. A  slim tube  with a bulbous,
finned object on it slid out  a doorway, and the 'Raum holding  it aimed
carefully, touched the firing stud. The rocket slammed into the pavement
just in front of the Grierson, bounced, and exploded under the  driver's
compartment. The  ACV bounced  clear of  the ground,  pilot fighting for
control, then rolled, crushing the  gunner. Its drive still hissed,  and
then  the Grierson  bulged, flame  flickering from  its open  ports  and
hatches. Another SSW opened fire, bolts crashing into the bottom of  the
Grierson, ricocheting wildly.

'It's  a trap,'  somebody shouted.  'The bastards  had backup!  Get  the
frigging army in!'


Alarms  shrilled  across  Camp Mahan's  parade  ground,  and a  reaction
element streamed toward waiting ACVs. Dill and his crew stood helplessly
beside   their   still-unrepaired   Grierson.   'Goddammit,   goddammit,
goddammit,' Ben swore monotonously. 'Somebody's having fun, and it ain't
us.'

First Tweg Malagash came around a corner. 'I need one volunteer...  you,
Jaansma. Ammo detail on that  Cooke over there. The poor  little copsies
are running out of bullets.'


Garvin felt orphaned, naked. He didn't know anybody in the Cooke's  crew
or the other man on the detail. He didn't belong with them, didn't  know
if  they  were  any  good. He  wanted  Dill,  Gorecki,  Kang, not  these
strangers if he was going close to danger. At least, he thought, we  're
just taking the bullets in. We won't  have to use them. But he was  very
damned grateful for the pistol at his waist.

His headset  crackled. 'Would  you look  at that?'  the pilot  said, and
Garvin saw smoke billowing high  from the city's center. Hope  Jaslth 's
got a good  view of the  excitement, and she's  not scared, he  thought.
Sure wish I could be there to do the strong right bower stuff.

''Kay, gang,' the pilot went on. 'That's where the action appears to be.
I've got contact with  the LZ Officer. We'll  go in high, get  a view of
what's going on, then go  in fast. Get the shit  off the bird so we  can
get out quick. I'll try to give you guys a chance to tourist a little on
the way out.'

They crossed  over land,  and Garvin  looked down  at the  high, ancient
walls of  the Eckmuhl  below, then  a flash  and a  thin stream of smoke
rushed at  them. 'Dive,'  he shouted.  'Somebody's shooting!'  The pilot
gaped,  turned to  look at  Garvin, and  the missile  slammed into   the
Cooke's  nose,  exploded. The  vehicle  tumbled, and  two  soldiers were
pitched out, falling, screaming, a hundred meters to the narrow  streets
of the Eckmuhl.

'Hang on,'  the pilot  shouted. 'We're  goin' in  hot. It's  gonna be  a
bastard!'

It was.



CHAPTER 31

'Sit  down, Yoshitaro,'  Alt Hedley  said, less  an invitation  than  an
order. The I&R Company commander  sat behind a table, with  Cent Angara,
an  Alt  Njangu didn't  recognize,  and a  grim-faced  Ben Dill.  Njangu
obeyed, hoping he'd  been called to  Company Headquarters because  there
was some word about Garvin, missing for two days now.

'We have  some information  on your  friend, Finf  Garvin Jaansma,' Cent
Angara said.

He's  dead,  Njangu thought.  Why  else would  everybody  be formal  and
glooming ?

'Finf Jaansma may be alive,' Angara went on. 'We secured the wreckage of
the Cooke at dawn today.'

Njangu inhaled  in relief,  then caught  himself. Good  news... but hard
faces? Careful.

'We have a few questions about your friend,' Angara went on.

'Such as,' the unknown officer snapped, 'whether or not he ever  evinced
any sympathies with the 'Raum? I'm Alt Wu, Jaansma's platoon leader.'

'No, sir,' Njangu  said, and the  scene fell sharply  into place-it felt
like a police court. He certainly knew how to handle that.

'You know that he was one of the soldiers who was sent a pistol recently
by an unknown person or persons?'

'Yes, sir.' So was I, and so what? And stop trying to sound tike a  cop,
Wu. It don't become you.

'There were five others aboard that  Cooke,' the alt went on. 'We  found
three bodies in the wreckage.  Two were obviously killed in  the initial
impact. The third,  the pilot, appears  to have been  killed by internal
injuries that left him outwardly unscathed. However, there were  blaster
holes in  his back  blaster holes  from a  pistol, a  pistol in the same
caliber as the weapons that've been mystery presents to various  members
of the Force.'

Njangu's face showed no sign of his surprise, and he said nothing.

'Once again,' the alt said, 'Jaansma showed no sign at all of wanting to
join the 'Raum?'

'None.' Yoshitaro counted two fast beats before adding 'sir.'

'Calm  down.  Striker,'  Hedley  said.  'No  one's  accusing  Jaansma of
anything.'

Not much they're not, Njangu thought.

'There was no sign of his body,' Wu said, 'nor any blood trails, and two
others in the detail are also missing. One had just been reduced to  the
ranks, and  was loudly  complaining about  life being  unfair. Could all
three of these have seized the moment, so to speak, and deserted?'

Njangu waited, stolid.

'I'm sorry  you don't  seem to  be able  to help  this somewhat informal
inquiry,' Angara said. 'If you think of anything that might help, please
see Alt Hedley at once.'

Right. When giptel dance.

'Is that all, sir?'

'It is,'  Hedley said.  Wu looked  at Njangu  angrily, but said nothing.
'You're dismissed.'

'May I be excused as well, sir?' Dill asked. - 'Very well.'

Both enlisted men saluted, walked out of the room.

Njangu was walking fast, back toward his quarters. Dill hurried to catch
up with him. 'Yoshitaro, wait  one.' Njangu stopped. 'That was  a little
raw  in  there,' Dill  said.  'I just  wanted  to say,  I  don't believe
Garvin's a traitor.'

'How could he be a traitor?' Njangu snapped. 'He's no more part of  this
world than you are... or I am.'

'Sorry. Wrong word. I  meant to say I  don't think he'd dump  us. But do
you have any idea about why that pilot would've gotten shot?'

'If I did, Finf Dill, I sure as hell wouldn't tell you,'

Njangu said.

Dill flushed,  stepped back,  fists balling.  Njangu was  suddenly in  a
slight crouch, fingers together, slightly curled. The two stared at each
other, then  Dill opened  his hands.  'Sorry,' he  said. 'I was thinking
about a certain  platoon leader I  know. Like maybe  you were, too.'  He
walked away, quickly.

Njangu waited until  he was out  of sight, started  toward the two  coms
that connected with civilian lines, then caught himself, and went toward
Force Headquarters, and the bank of lines outside the commissary that he
hoped weren't monitored. But if they are, what of it?


The  Cooke had  slammed in  hard, but  flat, spun  in two  lazy  circles
skidding up the  narrow street and  came to rest  halfway through a  low
masonry wall.

Garvin Jaansma sat up, spat blood,  and the world unspun around him.  He
was lying against the body of  the gunner, who'd cushioned him from  the
crash, and  died in  the process.  The fourth  ammo-pusher had fielded a
case of blaster drums with his skull. The pilot... the pilot was slumped
over his controls, and the boneless way he lay told Garvin all he needed
to know.

Garvin heard shouting, and bleared out at the street, through the litter
of spilled cargo and debris, and saw fifty or more 'Raum running  toward
him. Some had clubs, others knives, and still others were hurling  rocks
as they came. Garvin's pistol was out and he was about to fire when  his
mind caught up with him. Very deliberately he fired four shots into  the
dead pilot's back.

'Take that, you  bastard,' he shouted,  then turned. The  fastest of the
mob, a woman  in her thirties,  wailing vengeance and  waving a pair  of
long scissors, was almost to the Cooke.

'Here, sister,' Garvin  shouted. 'Forever The  Movement.' He tossed  her
the gun. The woman's  eyes went wide, but  she dropped the scissors  and
caught the  gun in  both hands,  then reversed  and aimed. Clumsily, but
straight at Garvin's chest.

'I'm rescued,'  Jaansma shouted,  wishing he  could have  come up with a
better line.

The  woman looked  stupefied, but  the pistol  lowered. Three  men  were
beside her. 'He shouted that he  was one of us,' she managed.  'And gave
me this.'

'No,' Jaansma corrected. 'I'm not a brother, not yet. But if I'm allowed
to, I'd be honored to help in the Task of freedom. That's why I deserted
the Force.'


Njangu  touched sensors,  waited. The  com buzzed  twice, clicked  three
times-the contact was  being bounced from  repeater to repeater,  then a
synthed voice said, 'Go ahead. I'm listening.'

'Uh... somebody sent me a pistol a couple of weeks... no, about a  month
ago, with this com number attached.

'Go ahead. I'm listening.'

'I just  wanted to  thank whoever's  at the  other end  of this  for the
present. I'm Njangu Yosh-'

'Wait.'

There were more clicks,  then a human voice  came on. 'What took  you so
long to get off the pot?'

'I know you,' he said.

'Damned well should,' Angie said.

'What're you looking for?'

'People who don't like  the way things're going.  And are willing to  do
something about it, starting with a whole lot of dead 'Raum.'

'Suppose I'm interested?' Njangu asked.

Silence for a moment. 'You remember a village?'

'I do.'

'Go there. Somebody'll meet you. No tricks, no tails.'

'Suppose I'm not quite sure yet? What about cover? What about keeping me
out of the slam if I do go with you? Killing 'Raum's all real good,  but
what about the far end?'

Another silence. 'You jerking me off?'

'Negative,' Njangu said.

'Better not,' Angie  said. 'We don't  have time to  preach for converts.
When... if... you're ready... call this number again. But don't take too
long. Time's running out for waf-flers.' The line went dead.


The police began escorting those 'Raum still brave, or needy, enough  to
go to their jobs  outside the Eckmuhl, using  prisoner-transport lifters
as shuttles. There were nineteen 'Raum already aboard the lifter, and  a
twentieth hurrying  toward it,  the others  chaffing him  for wanting to
stay behind  and have  a party  with the  beards when  the bomb exploded
that'd been planted in  a small lifter parked  just ahead of the  pickup
point.

Two Planetary policemen  died with the  nineteen. The only  survivor was
the latecomer, and he swore, as he lay on the pavement, feeling what  he
knew was not rain patter about  him, that he would never be  on schedule
for anything in whatever life span the One had granted.


'There have been very few men or  women of the Force who wished to  join
us,' the slender, not unpretty  woman observed. 'And most of  those were
'Raum who had erred,  lost sight of their  Duty for a time,  joined with
the Rentiers' dogs, then realized their horrible error. Two of those had
completely lost their way, and thought they would be double agents.' The
woman  paused.  'They  did  not  die  easily.  But  they  died,  without
accomplishing anything at all.'

'That was well,'  Garvin said, trying  to sound a  bit approving, a  bit
enthusiastic, and scared. Only the last came easily.

'Garvin Jaansma... promoted finf for merit... offworlder, which may be a
plus... gunner on an Aerial Combat Vehicle... Third Platoon, A  Company,
Second Regiment...yes, don't  be surprised, we  have people inside  Camp
Mahan. Were you in trouble, Jaansma?'

'No,ma'am.'

'Why do you wish to join us?'

Garvin took a somewhat theatrical breath. 'I joined the Confederation to
become  a fighter,  a warrior.  I didn't  join to  become a   policeman,
especially not one who smashes the little people and keeps the fat-asses
in power.'

'But isn't that the nature of any soldier?'

'Maybe so,' Garvin said. 'Maybe I didn't think things out enough.'

'Perhaps not,' the  woman said. She  gnawed at her  lower lip, thinking.
'What were you before you enlisted?'

'I was a salesman,' Garvin lied. 'Not a very good one.'

'If we... The Movement...  were not pressed for  time, I would have  you
taken to some rear area and given instruction.

It would  be impossible  for you,  if you're  really a  spy against  The
Movement, to  maintain your  role over  that long  a time.  But time  is
something we have  little of, and  you're a trained  soldier, which very
few of us are. What military skills, disciplines, we have, we've had  to
learn by error and by others' deaths. You could be of infinite value.

'However,  we  are hardly  fools,  so we  must  devise a  certain  test,
something  that will  irretrievably bind  you to  us, even  if you   had
thoughts of double betrayal.'

'I'll  welcome  any  test  you want  to  put  me  through,' Garvin  said
fervently, his stomach turning.


'The Old Man is biting credits in half,' Cent Angara said. 'And shitting
quarter-C pieces. Deserters are bad enough, but now we've got one  who's
found a new career as a gunman for the 'Raum.'

'So it  seems,' Hedley  agreed. 'Flipping  wonderful, ain't  it. Run the
tape again. With the sound off. I've heard enough shit-tin' and shoutin'
for one day.'

Angara touched a sensor, and the stage in front of them came alive. They
were the only two in the II Section screening room.

It was a Leggett street. A heavy stone building almost filled the block,
and  the  camera was  across  the street  from  it. The  building  had a
discreet sign:  MELLUSIN MINING.  Three armored  lighters were  grounded
next to it, with four armed guards pacing back and forth.

'Poor goddamned Mellusin,'  Hedley murmured. 'First  they try to  snatch
his daughter, then they do grab his flipping gold.'

'Wonder which one hurt the most?' Angara said.

'The daughter,' Hedley said.  'He's real big on  her, and she's an  only
child. These credits the 'Raum're after are just a bit off the top.  But
he's got another  reason to feel  bad... I just  got something from  the
interrogation ofJaansma's Grierson crew... one said the kid was having a
thing with Mellusin's daughter.'

The  scene flashed  off, and  Angara stared  at the  younger officer  in
surprise. 'That's too goddamned coincidental to be coincidental.'

'That's what  I was  wondering,' Hedley  said calmly.  'Sure is flipping
interesting. Run the tape, my friend. Maybe we're missing something.'

Angara touched the sensor, and  the security recording spun on:  Six men
came out  of Mellusin  Mining, each  rolling a  half-rneter-square safe.
Side doors slid open on the  middle lifter. Thus far, it was  a standard
payroll shipment for Mellusin's mines on C-Cumbre, hard credits  instead
of  an  electronic  transfer  because  the  'Raum  miners,  not  without
justification, insisted on  'real' payment from  the bosses they  hardly
trusted. In mid-transfer,  the process went  sour, as two  cargo lifters
careened out of an alley, and  rammed the front and rear lifters.  'Raum
leapt out  of the  backs of  the lifters,  and started  shooting. Guards
fought back, ran, were shot down.  Two other cargo lighters came up  the
street, and  rear doors  banged open  and ramps  slid down.  'Raum began
loading the safes aboard the lighters. All the 'Raum wore hooded  masks.
All except one.

'Push on our boy,' Hedley requested, and Angara obeyed. Garvin  Jaansma,
holding a blaster, filled the screen. 'Very good. Go back on him,  until
he first comes off the flipping lifter.'

The three-dee  hologram reversed  itself, and  Garvin became  one of the
'Raum who jumped off a lighter, gun ready. He aimed, pulled the trigger,
aimed again...

'Go back on that  one again,' Hedley said.  'Now freeze it right  at the
moment when he shoots. Good. Not much of a recoil from that blaster, now
was there?'

'There isn't much anyway.'

'Widen the angle,' Hedley said. 'Tell me who he shot.'

Angara ran the  record back, forth,  back and forth  again. 'Nobody,' he
said. 'A shitty shot?'

'Qualified  marksman,'  Hedley said.  'Or  maybe they  didn't  trust him
enough to give him any flipping ammo?'

'Not proven. But  we'll accept this  was a test,'  Angara grudged. 'They
surely  must've  known  there's  cameras  all  over  the  street outside
Mellusin Mining, and with him the only one bare nekkid for all to see...
guess they were making sure he was committed to the flipping cause. Even
if they didn't give him any bolts, JonJust participating  full-heartedly
in this will be enough for him to be dancing Danny Deever when we  catch
him.'

'Maybe,' Hedley  said. 'Run  it forward.  Okay, he  pretends to shoot...
look at that woman just behind  him. The one with the cut-down  sporting
weapon. Notice it isn't pointed anywhere but at young finf Jaansma? They
didn't trust him.

'Keep it running. Now he's done what  he was ordered to, so now he  just
stands there,  waiting, until  they shout  for him  to load  up with the
flipping gold. Like a good little rebel he jumps in the lighter and  off
everybody  goes  with Mellusin's  money.  End of  episode,  beginning of
legend.  Now we'll  have Jaansma  the Flipping  Rebel to  contend  with.
Right?'

'Right,' Angara agreed. 'But it'll be  the end of a legend when  we hang
his young ass.'

'Not right,' Hedley said. 'Run it back one more time, to when he  lowers
the blaster. Push in on his face. Look at that.'

'He's scared,' Angara said.  'Got a twitch. I'd  twitch, too, if I  were
selling out everything and everybody I knew on the permanent record.'

'A flipping irregular twitch,'  Hedley said. 'I think  there's something
sneaky going on.' He asked  an increasingly irritated Angara to  run the
scene two more  times, then got  a pad and  pen. 'How'd you  do in Basic
Commo?'

'Acceptable,'  Angara  said.  'But  that   was  so  long  ago  we   were
communicating with smoke puffs.'

'Always suspected that. One more time. Slowly.' Hedley scribbled as  the
scene unwound. 'Now I need to use the flipping com.' He touched sensors,
asked for some information, disconnected with thanks.

'Well, well,' he said. 'Things are a leetle more complex than they seem.
I just checked finf Jaansma's record again. Did real well in everything,
which we  know. Including  Communications training,  both programmed and
conscious. That's  interesting as  all hell,  considering I  noticed our
rebel's  twitch  is  very  flipping  military.  That  eyelid  of  his is
twitching in basic code: 0, N,  I, N, S, I, D, E,  G, E, T, C, 0, M,  M,
O.'

Angara ran the letters through  his mind. 'Pile it in,  Hedley. Nobody's
that sneaky.'

'Yeah? How come he  has time for another  0, N, I, N  before they hustle
him off?'

'Oh shitola on a green leaf,' Angara grunted. 'This does muddy things up
a bit, doesn't it?'

'Yeh,' Hedley agreed. 'Do we decide to believe him?And if we do, how  do
we  make  contact  with  him?  Come  on,  Messiah,  gimme  some flipping
suggestions.'

'Don't know,' Angara said. 'I'm still stuck on the first question.'


'Njangu,' Alt Hedley said cautiously, 'I have a proposition.'

Njangu it is now. Be very careful, little brown brother.

'Yes, sir,' Yoshitaro said, looking brightly interested.

'All this is highly classified,' Cent Angara said. 'Please sit down.'

Please? Hoboy, this is going to be cute.

'We  misjudged  your friend  Garvin  Jaansma,' Hedley  said.  'We're now
operating on the basis that he's innocent, and a very quick thinker.'

Angara explained about  the holdup, which  Njangu'd already heard  about
through  the  rumor mill,  and  Garvin's coded  blinking.  Njangu almost
nodded-his friend was thinking fast. Probably all those goddamned  'Raum
wanting to tear him  a new asshole kicked  his brain into high  gear. He
sure wouldn 't have come up  with something that stinky all on  his own.
And he better be careful, in whatever warren they 've got his young ass,
or he's going to start  thinking he's thinking, get  cocky and get  thin
sliced. Stinky shit's my department.

'Very interesting,' Yoshitaro said  whenAngara'd finished. 'And I'm  not
surprised at all. But why're you telling me all this?'

'We want you to go in and get him out.'

'Uh... Cent,' Njangu said, with a twisted grin, 'I'm not Stupor Soldier.
No steel teeth on  me, and no pocket  nukes up my ass.  Perhaps the word
that's gone before me's been a little excessive.'

Angara glanced  at Hedley.  'Your Recon  boys are  as big  wise-asses as
their leader.'

'Hope so,' Hedley said. 'Otherwise,  all that training would've gone  to
waste.'

'We'd put you in with some mini-coms the Planetary Police's P&A  Section
has, and a good cover.'

'Such as?'

'Such as you're going to desert.'

'Now why would I do something like that?' Njangu said.

'Jaansma might be  a friend, but  we ain't banging  assholes, to put  it
bluntly. It'd have to be better than that.'

'What about,' Angara tried, 'that we think you had something to do  with
his desertion?'

'Not enough.'

'Even if we're going to court-martial you?'

Njangu started to say something, then caught himself.

'Go ahead,' Hedley said.

'I better not, sir. I've got enough enemies.'

Angara lifted an eyebrow. 'I don't bruise easy. Keep talking.'

'Very well... sir. That's the flash shit they do in holos. Thrown out of
the regiment in disgrace, epaulettes, whatever the hell those are,  torn
off in disgrace,  medals thrown in  the dirt, drums  thumping away. Real
dramatic... sir... but gip-re/-piddle as far as I'm concerned.'

Hedley grinned at a flushing Angara. 'Why?'

'Because the real  world... at least  when it comes  to crook-ery, isn't
all that dramatic,' Njangu said.

'You have some expertise in the area?' Angara asked.

Njangu just looked at him.

'Sorry. Go on.'

'Look at it from  the 'Raum point of  view. I show up  with cops chasing
me, hollering and  screaming, and it  looks flash, like  I said. So  the
first thing they're going to do is check me out every way they can.'

'We don't think they have a scan.'

'I don't give a shit about  scans,' Njangu said. 'I can beat  them, most
times.'

Hedley blinked. 'How?  Sorry... some other  time you'll have  to show me
that little trick. But go ahead. Sorry I interrupted you.'

'What I'm  worried about  is the  records. Charge  sheets, court-martial
scheduling, all that sort of thing, right down to who was going to stand
in for officers who were  gonna be on that court-martial.  Other things,
like what hard evidence  did you get to  think I was a  'Raum convert to
get this court-martial rolling?'

'You're being paranoid.'

'Am I? Even paranoiacs got enemies, sir.'

'As long  as we  keep everything  inside the  Force, and  at the highest
level, we should have no trouble,' Angara argued stubbornly.

'Inside the Force, sir? Last time  I was at Headquarters, I saw  a dozen
'Raum clerks. Don't try to make me believe Caud Williams and Mil Rao  do
their own filing.'

'Just because one of our clerks happens to come from a 'Raum  background
' Angara started.

'Means they're the enemy. Not to mention I don't believe somebody in  II
Section, some Force person, won't tell this tippy-10? secret t0 a  buddy
of his with  the cops' P&A  Section. And of  course I don't  believe the
'Raum just  might happen  to have  an agent  or two  inside the coppery.
Pretty  soon, every-body'll  know good  old Njangu's  out there  playing
games, including  the 'Raum.  I've got  to take  a one-way, chicken-shit
point of view, sir. It's my  ass you're talking about dumping in  there.
Let's say that I've  had some experience in  things going wrong, and  if
they can go wrong, they will. And I'll be the dead meat.'

''Kay,' Hedley said. 'Drop  the idea. We'll find  some other way to  get
Jaansma into contact with II Section. But we'd like you to help us  plan
whatever  we're going  to do,  since you  know him  better than  anybody
else.'

'Not a chance,'  Njangu said. 'I'm  the one that's  going in. But  we're
going to do it my way or no way.'


Njangu stamped back into the barracks with a black look on his face, and
obvious rage in his heart.

'What's the matter?' Kipchak asked.

'Dirty sons of bitches,' Njangu  snapped. 'They won't get off  this shit
about Garvin being a traitor, and maybe I know something and maybe  this
and maybe that.'

'Hey, Njangu,' Gerd said. 'They don't know any better.'

'No,'  Yoshitaro said.  'No, they  don't. Tell  you what  they'll  do...
they'll put Garvin's face on a poster, and some Planetary oinker'll  gun
him down, and then they'll find  out different and all it'll be  is 'oh,
so sorry,  we made  a little  mistake.' Which  won't do  the late Garvin
Jaansma a goddamned  bit of all  right. Idiots practicing  to be morons,
every goddamned one of them.'

'Maybe it'd do some good if I talked to Hedley,' Penwith said. 'I  spent
time with Garvin myself.'

'You can try. But I'm through talking to butthooks with their fingers in
their ears.'

'You  better  get some  sleep  and stop  raving,'  Kipchak said  mildly.
'They've got you on guard, third watch, tonight.'

'It never  frigging rains  but it  pours, doesn't  it? All  right. Lemme
start  spit-shining  on the  off  chance I  make  supernumerary,' Njangu
growled. 'I really didn't need this shit.'


Very quietly,  PlanGov announced  normal traffic  to and  from the   far
distant  island/city  ofKerrier  and   three  other  islands  had   been
interrupted  because  of  'civic  unrest,'  to  be  resumed  as  soon as
possible.


Caud Williams had ordered Garvin Jaansma and Njangu Yoshitaro to keep  a
low profile.  Probably no  order has  ever been  so lavishly  disobeyed:
First Garvin deserted,  then Njangu Yoshitaro,  at least in  the eyes of
the Force,  vastly outdid  him. According  to the  charge sheet. Striker
Yoshitaro, when detailed  to guard duty,  was observed to  be loudly and
obnoxiously drunk when his watch was called. The commander of the  guard
attempted to quiet him, and  he knocked him unconscious, broke  the Tweg
of the guard's  left arm when  he tried to  quiet him, drew  a pistol on
other members of his guard, and  told them to get inside the  guardhouse
or die, then locked them all in cells and hurled the key into the bay.

He proceeded to the Camp Mahan main commissary, which was just  closing,
broke in the back door, terrorized several civilian clerks at  gunpoint,
and stole the evening's receipts.  Yoshitaro ran out the front  entrance
of the commissary, shot out the overhead lights, commandeered a  passing
Military  Police patrol  lifter, struck  one of  the policemen  when  he
attempted to  reason with  the berserk  striker, and  stole the  lifter.
Civilian authorities were not able to respond in time, and the  Military
Police lifter was abandoned outside one of the gates into the Eckmuhl.

Njangu  Yoshitaro  and  Garvin  Jaansma  were  placed  on  the Planetary
Police's Most Wanted list, and orders were given to the police and  army
that  both  were  considered armed  and  extraordinarily  dangerous, and
authorization was given to shoot on sight, without warning.

*   *   *

'This,' Garvin explained,  'is Jo Poynton.  She's the equivalent  of the
head of II Section for The Movement.  She gave me a chance when I  first
decided to  join the  'Raum.' He  sounded impressed,  and Njangu  looked
respectful.

'You others can leave,' Poynton said, and Njangu's guards vanished.  She
took a pistol from her desk, and  laid it in front of her. 'You  two are
interesting,'  she  said.  'Your  deeds  make  you  sound  like terrible
desperadoes.'

Njangu shrugged. 'People got in my way.'

'Perhaps,'  she said.  'Although I'll  admit it's  very hard  for me  to
believe the Force would allow anyone to create as much chaos as you  did
to create the rationale for a  false deserter. And we do appreciate  the
contribution to The Movement's  treasury. It came  to a bit  over ninety
seven thousand credits, for your information.'

Njangu smiled wryly.

'Since you arrived in  the Eckmuhl four days  ago,' Poynton went on,  'I
did some thorough  checking within The  Movement about you.  You already
know, Jaansma,  how careful  we are  in documenting  all members  of the
Force, requiring all brothers and sisters to report on any contact  with
soldiers, but perhaps that's new to you, Yoshitaro.'

Njangu tried to ignore the  constriction in his throat, remembering  his
'contact' with the woman named Limnea.

'The first appearance you, Yoshitaro,  have in our records is  when you,
without any rationale, chose to help  a 'Raum boy who was being  bullied
by some drunks. Why?'

'I'd had a bad day, and needed to relieve my tension.'

Poynton blinked. 'That's an unusual answer. At any rate, because of this
uncommon  event, I  had you  and your  group followed.  You,  Yoshitaro,
managed to elude my not-inexperienced operative. I then decided to  have
you, Jaansma, picked up for  interrogation later that night. I  sent two
men after you,  both skilled warriors,  and one you  crippled, the other
was a long time recuperating and still can't be considered fully capable
of combat.'

'I'm sorry,' Garvin said, trying to sound ashamed. 'I thought they  were
trying to rob me.'

'Then,' Poynton went on, 'first one,  then the other of you desert,  and
make your way to the Eckmuhl and want to join The Movement. Don't either
of you find those events a bit suspicious?'

'Maybe,' Njangu said. 'But I think life's a bit suspicious.'

Surprisingly,  a  smile  came,   and  Poynton's  compressed  lips   were
attractive for an instant. 'I discussed my problem with the one who  now
leads The  Movement's Planning  Group, and  what should  be done. On one
hand, I  don't want  to lose  the potential  of your  valuable services.
You've already given us excellent  information on your unit's codes  and
procedures, although the Force has already changed its signal  operating
procedure, so what  you told us  is important less  in practice than  in
theory.  Both of  you will  be very  useful in  the days  to come,  both
training new fighters and as warriors yourself, so the first option that
was suggested I found unpleasant.'

'I assume,' Njangu said, 'your leader suggested shooting us.'

'Correct.'

'That does seem a little wasteful,' Garvin said.

Again Poynton smiled. 'Sometimes I  forget how grim we've) all  gotten,'
she said. 'I hope both of you can keep your humon alive.'

'Easy, as long as we're alive,' Njangu said.

'Which brings me to the second  option,' Poynton said. 'Both of you  are
aware of the Rentiers' own terrorists, the ones they call beards?'

Both men nodded.

'We have  excellent intelligence  that they  are not  only funded by the
Rentiers and other medievalists, but  that most of their operatives,  at
least the most effective murderers, were recruited from the ranks of the
Force. Some of us  think they are actually  still members of the  Strike
Force, operating under deep cover so they can butcher with a free  hand.
What's your opinion?'

'I'd  think   not,'  Njangu   said.  'I   came  from   Intelligence  and
Reconnaissance, and we work closely with II Section-Force  Intelligence.
I  think  I would  have  heard some  whisper  if we  were  running death
squads.'

'Perhaps... or perhaps  not,' Poynton said.  'I must allow  my opponents
credit for some intellect, and being able to keep a few secrets. Not  to
mention the possibility that you  are both double agents, in  which case
you're lying.

'Not that  it matters,  for the  head of  our Planning  Group and I have
devised a mission for you two, a further test. I will control your team,
and you will have  access to any resources  the 'Raum can provide  which
you need.

'Your assignment  is to  track down  and eliminate  those death  squads,
those they call beards.  If you fail, that  might suggest you are  still
with the  Force, but  the problem  will have  been solved  for us by the
beards. If  you succeed...  you have  done everyone  on D-Cumbre a great
favor.'



CHAPTER 32

'I frigging despise eavesdroppers.'  Njangu snarled. 'Even when  they're
on my frigging side.''

'So I see,' Garvin said calmly.  He sat on one of the  small apartment's
beds, feet on a table. Their room was a mess working on a  shambles-wire
ripped from the ceiling  and walls draped across  plaster-strewn tables;
three spike-mikes that'd been boot-tested and found wanting, a shattered
grid-mike that'd masqueraded as a  bad scenic view of the  bay invisible
behind the high walls of the Eckmuhl, and an archaic standard microphone
that  appeared  to  have  been planted  by  one  of  D-Cumbre's original
settlers.

'Did you get all of them?' he asked.

'Every bleedin'  one,' Njangu  said, shaking  his head,  holding up  one
finger and  pointing to  one of  the ceiling  lights. He  scrawled on  a
notepad: / boogered that one so it's only got about a meter's range. Let
them think they're still hearing  something, so they don't get  worried.
Keep the important shit in writing.

''Kay,' Garvin said. 'By the way, where'd you learn your techno skills?'

'Can't a girl have a few secrets?'

'Why not. So what're we gonna do about nailing your bearded honey?'

Njangu slumped down on another bunk. 'That's a poser, ain't it?'

'Actually, the first question is, can we do anything about ol' Angie?'

'We better,'  Njangu  said.  'Or  The Movement's  gonna  have  us  'dobe
walled.'

'Appears like,' Garvin agreed. 'So what're the options?'

'The first and easiest would be to nark her off to the coppers,'  Njangu
said. 'Which'd piss off our new lords and masters, 'cause it's a  little
hard to believe  she and her  crew'd get Handled  Harshly, since me  and
some other people  have this sneaky  and obvious hunch  the Rentiers are
bankrolling them. Plus I ain't big on snitching.'

'So you want to do her yourself?' Garvin asked.

'Not really,' Njangu said honestly. 'I'm not that hard-assed. But  we've
got to  ensure she...  and the  rest of  the beards...  are inactivated.
Permanently. Unless we want the same treatment.'

'This keeps sounding like killing,' Garvin said, grimacing.

'ltdo.doon'tit?'

'But first things first,' Garvin said. 'I know we're incredibly  gifted,
intelligent, analytical and well hung,  but how are we gonna/inrf  young
Angie? I understand there's been some other folks looking.'

'I think I can get ahold of  Rada,' Njangu said. 'She did gimme her  com
number, and  suggested a  meeting place.  I think  we ought to establish
contact, see what shakes, then play it by ear.'

'So commence to button-pushing, my friend.'

'Not here,' Njangu said. 'Let's go grab our quote escorts end quote  and
find a neutral com.  No. Better idea. Let's  go tell Poynton what  we're
going to try.'


Njangu waited until  the monorail car  was almost empty,  then picked up
his battered case and got off,  trying to think like he looked-a  young,
not very successful  salesman having a  bad day out  here in the  tules,
hoping the  little fishing  village ofls-sus  would change  his luck. He
left the station, walked through the park, eyeing the businesses  around
the square for possible customers. His eyes swept left, right.

There's  one...  even  wearing  his  old  service  boots...  good camou,
Angie... another  one pretending  to scan  the holo  board... now one of
ours, shit, gotta break that -woman's thumbs and get her to stop playing
spy, peepin' around like she ought to be wearing a veil with a  codebook
in one hand... goddamned  amateurs... pity the frigging  Movement's down
on  hiring crooks...  He bent,  adjusted a  bootstrap, glanced  casually
behind him. Another one back  there... Angle's gift-pistol in the  small
of his back felt very comforting.

A man came  toward him, a  familiar face, brushed  against him, and  was
past, and  Njangu realized  his sidearm  had been  quite neatly  lifted.
Before he could  figure what to  do next, Angie  Rada came out  of a net
repair shop's alcove and was beside him, holding his right elbow in  her
left. She was dressed like a day tourist from the capital, but kept  her
other hand in  her windbreaker pocket.  'Smile like you're  having fun,'
she whispered. 'We're two old friends who just happened to run into each
other.'

'Aren't we?'

'Why'd you take off?' Angie asked.

'Things  got a  little henhouse  back at  good old  Camp Mayhem,  and  I
decided to seek grander horizons.'

'What took you so long to call me again?'

'I thought I'd check the other options first,' Njangu said. 'I've got  a
pretty good idea a man could  get killed working for you... with  damned
few credits in the process.'

Angie's grip tightened, and  she swung the hand  in her pocket until  it
pointed toward Njangu. 'What others? The 'Raum?'

'Jesu Joy of  Man's Desire, Angie!  Just 'cause you've  turned into some
kind ofbigtime death squad leader doesn't mean you have to pack in  what
little goddamned humor you had!'

'Careful,  Yoshitaro,'  Angie warned.  'What  I'm doing  isn't  a joking
matter.'

'Yeh, well I  always learned that  it's a good  idea to keep  a smile on
your lips and a song in your heart when you're smashing the State.'

'We're hardly  doing that,'  Rada said.  'Rather, we're  backing it  up,
doing the work it's reluctant to do, so it can become as strong as  it's
supposed to be.' She looked critically at Njangu. 'You know, I'll  never
understand you.'

'Nothing to understand,' Njangu said easily. 'I'm just a charming feller
with  an  eye for  the  main chance.  I  checked around  with  the local
mobbies, but they're lying pretty low, and not hiring outside talent  at
the moment.'

'You better  realize something,  mister. Once  you're in  this thing  of
mine... of ours, there's no getting out until it's over.'

'And that'll be?'

'When these frigging 'Raum have been taught their place and put in it.'

'Which is?'

'The bastards that have been killing women and children and policemen...
dead or in prison. Dead by court, dead by our hands, it doesn't matter.'

'What about the others? Not every 'Raum is rebelling.'

'Shit they're not,' Rada said fiercely. 'They're backing these murderers
in everything they do,  and that's just as  bad as if they  were pulling
the trigger or setting the bomb  themselves. So they'll have to pay.  We
ought to  just stamp  'em all  out, buti  know my  Cumbrians. They think
they're  too  good to  go  off-planet and  work  the mines,  or  dig the
ditches, so we'll  always need the  'Raum, I'm afraid.  But we can  keep
them  offDharma Island,  off the  other major  islands, and  out of  the
cities.

'Maybe we'll isolate them on some of the Windward Islands or  something,
and build ports to transport the miners back and forth to C-Cumbre,  and
have temporary camps for  those we need to  have doing scut work  in the
cities. I don't know. That's for the pols to work out, after we give the
government back to them.'

'We?' Njangu asked.

'You don't think I'm alone  in this? Killers, for your  information, are
high-maintenance tools. My family,  after their stores got  burned, have
realized which side  they're on, and  that helps. But  there's others...
real big names, names that'd surprise you, who're contributing. Credits,
vehicles, target tips... you name it, we've got it.

'So are you in?'

'As if I' ve got a choice.'

'Good,' Angie said. 'Now, we'll  arrange to get back to  Leggett, making
sure you didn't bring any  friends along, and then we'll  start training
you.'

'More training?' Njangu  wailed, but felt  vast relief. It  looked as if
he'd done it, stepped through the  door the minute it fell open.  Ho-ho,
Njangu  Yoshitaro,  master  infiltrator  and  double  agent.  And   then
everything fell apart around his shoulder blades.

A cheery voice called 'Aay! N'anju! Angie!'

Njangu jolted... shit, blown, saw a smiling, long-haired beauty.  Deira,
of long months ago. He sagged in relief, lifted a hand in greeting. Then
he saw Angle's face, cold in rage,  and her hand came out of her  jacket
pocket holding a heavy pistol,  and she crouched, bringing her  off hand
up  in support,  the gun  aiming, in  utter madness,  at Deira.   Njangu
reacted without thinking, snapkicking,  the gun spinning away,  into the
park. Angie scrabbled after it, snarling incoherently, and a gun blasted
behind Njangu, blowing a hole in a parked lifter.

Njangu rolled,  hand going  for his  bootheel, not  as nonsensical as it
looked. One heel had been modified by 'Raum craftsman, and held two  old
fashioned shot-shells, each in an alloy barrel, with spring firing pins.
He had  the weapon,  brought it  up, saw  a heavyset  man he  thought he
remembered  from the  Force aiming  at him,  not five  meters away,  and
snapped the first pin. The  gun blasted, nearly breaking his  wrist, and
the pellets spattered  the man. He  screeched, dropped the  gun, grabbed
his face, and staggered backward.

Angie recovered her pistol, was aiming, and Njangu let the other  barrel
go. Both  of them  missed. Njangu  ducked away,  into some  brush, heard
Angie screaming, 'Kill  him! Kill him!'  and for the  first time in  his
life, the cops came to the rescue.

There were three of them, big men wearing riot gear, and they saw Angie,
pistol in hand, and reached for their guns. She shot one, he grabbed his
arm, and she ran toward the monorail station.

Njangu went after her, cutting through  the park, not sure what he'd  do
if he beat  Angie to the  station, hoping to  hell his backups  had seen
what'd happened and were coming,  but seeing, hearing no one,  the crazy
thought repeating,  all right,  bitch, all  right, you  went and made it
personal and now it's gonna be  payback time. Behind him, the cops  shot
again,  then a  third time,  and he  wondered at  what. Someone  shouted
'Halt,' and he threw a rude gesture over his shoulder, kept going.

He stopped behind a tree thick enough to stop a blaster bolt. He  looked
back, and saw Deira on her hands and knees, scuttling behind a  grounded
lifter, felt an instant of relief, then dashed on.

A grenade boomed ahead of him, then he was out of the park, seeing smoke
curl  outside  the  'rail station/town  hall,  two  sprawled bodies  and
shattered glass jeweling the ground.  Annie was going up the  steps, two
men with her. One paused, aimed carefully, and shattered the top of  the
com tower on the hall's roof.

A 'rail  car was  inside the  station, turbine  whining. Another grenade
blasted, and  shots echoed  from inside.  Njangu, a  crazy whirl  in his
guts, ran up the steps of the hall, used a shattered window frame for  a
step, pulled himself to the roof of the hall. He shinnied up the lattice
of the blasted tower,  just as the 'rail  eased out of the  station, two
meters below him, three meters away.

Not letting  himself think,  he jumped,  and thudded  down on  the car's
roof. He  slid, almost  going off  as the  car picked  up speed, found a
pressure hold, squirmed  to a rotating  beacon, clutched it  as the wind
roared about him.

Now what, you silly bastard, now what, hoping they didn't hear the  thud
as you landed and this goddamned thing doesn 't go fast enough to  knock
you off, and didn 't  you forget something important  like maybe a  bang
stick? His fingers fumbled at his other heel, pulled it off, and whipped
the antenna free to flail in the wind. He touched the POWER sensor,  the
SEND button.

'G... this is N.' Static crackled, and Njangu winced, knowing this  half
assed lashup the half-assed 'Raum  techs had built, swearing it'd  never
be found, swearing it was set away from any Force frequency, was screwed
and pretty quick blaster bolts  would start punching holes in  metal and
then Njangu Yoshitaro.

'G. Go.'  Garvin's voice  was quite  calm, and  Njangu forced himself to
sound the same.

'In a world of shit,' he said, and briefly explained what'd happened.

'What do you need?'

'Wings, asshole... but maybe somebody knows the 'rail routes, and can be
waiting at the station with a hundred gazil-lion Zhukovs.'

'Negative on the Zooks,' Garvin said. 'But there'll be people there! The
Big Man's here,  and he's giving  orders. Hang on.  We'll pull your  ass
out.'

'You better.'

But the  'rail never  reached the  main Leggett  station. As  the silver
rails curved over the Heights,  then down toward Leggett, it  came close
to the ground, not ten meters above a thickly brushed hillside.  Blaster
fire  came  from  inside,  then screams,  and  more  shots.  The turbine
screamed up the cycle, then there was sudden silence.

Yoshitaro chanced  looking, saw  an emergency  exit screech  open, locks
protesting. A man jumped, gun in hand, arms wide, coat flapping, landed,
then Angie followed, then the third man leapt free. Angie glanced up  at
the car, and Njangu hastily ducked out of sight. The trio pushed through
the undergrowth toward a nearby street.

Njangu Yoshitaro,  unarmed, listed  three dozen  sorts of  fools he was,
jumped into the middle of a thornbush, rolled, and went after the  three
beards.


'G... this is N.'

'Go.'

'Obviously the party didn't make the station.'

'No shiteedah. What happened?'

'They jumped off outside Leggett, infiltrated into the city.'

'Eeesh. So we're starting all over again?'

'Big  negative, my  friend. I  stayed with  'em. Present  location  Yoke
Itchie Seven Unyoke  Q as in  Queen, Yoke Medal  Doolie Gik Gik  Pod Sif
Medal Pod Unyoke. Bring some  big guys with sticks. These  people aren't
friendly at all.'

'On the way.'


The  warehouse  sat  in  the grimy  port  industrial  area  to the  east
ofLeggett's main shopping district,  with no signs of  ownership. Njangu
scouted the entrances-one  on each of  the streets the  building fronted
on, a fourth on the  wharf to the rear. He  found a vantage point in  an
alleyway and waited. Three times lifts with RADA MARKETS came and  went.
Subtle. Njangu shook his head.  More proof P&A are really  incorruptible
coppers. Twice he talked Garvin closer, wondering what sort of big  guys
with sticks he'd been able to arrange.

A short man with  a broom wandered up  the street, paused at  the alley,
and grinned toothlessly.  'Go back one  block,' he said.  'We're waiting
for  you in  that burned-out  building.' The  street-sweeper ambled  on.
Njangu checked for watchers, obeyed.

The building  had been  a cargo-lifter  park and  maintenance works, and
flame-twisted machinery  still sat  here and  there on  the grease-  and
smoke-blackened floor. Njangu blinked as he smoothed inside. There  were
at least fifty  'Raum gathered, none  big with sticks,  dressed in every
guise from workman to soh, two-thirds men, some very young. But all were
armed with a disarray of weaponry, holding their weapons fiercely. There
were paired guards at the two entrances.

Garvin crouched atop an overturned, burned-out lifter. He saw Njangu and
stood. He held a  pistol in one hand.  'Brothers and sisters to  be,' he
started. 'I would have your ears. My brother, Njangu, has tracked  these
enemies of the people, these ones they call the beards, to their den. We
know there are  three of them  in there, probably  more. We do  not know
what the building contains. We do not know what weapons our enemies have
inside. We do not have time to make further investigation.

'I hope I  have brought you  to the center  of this conspiracy  who have
slaughtered your women,  your children, your  men. I would  like to take
one prisoner, to interrogate later, to determine how many more of  these
beards we shall have to find and eliminate, but if we cannot, we cannot.

'We must strike hard and fast, for the police will arrive shortly  after
the fighting starts.  When you see  no more targets,  leave at once.  If
there are wounded, dead, try to take them with you, and don't leave them
to the  cruelties of  the police.  If you  must, abandon  your arms  and
attempt  to  melt into  the  people, for  you,  as a  fighter,  are more
important than any gun, any bomb. I shall begin the attack, after I have
been told each group is ready. Expect anything when you enter.

'This is the heart of the  enemy. Show no mercy, and remember  the blood
on their hands, and repay them  for their evil. Work well. for  the Task
is at hand.'

There was a murmur,  and the men began  filing out. Garvin jumped  down,
walked to Njangu. 'Ready?'

'Yeh,' Njangu said. 'I say again my last: What about the fancy talking?'

'In the circus,' Garvin said blandly, and went toward the exit.


The warehouse served not only  Rada Markets, but, through them,  another
dozen  smaller  emporiums.  To the  nineteen  deserters  Angie Rada  had
recruited, it was,  with the exception  of sexual opportunities,  fairly
close to nirvana. They'd sectioned off the rear of the building, closest
to the bay, for living quarters, set up bunks and stoves from the stored
camping  equipment. They  made periodic  forays into  the warehouse  for
food, liquor, holos,  and such, taking  a case at  a time so  there'd be
little obvious sign of their presence.

Sixteen beards were  listening to Angie  Rada, who stood  in front of  a
large-scale tri-dee pictomap of Leggett. A seventeenth guarded the  main
entrance  the  lifters  used,  and  two  others  were  in  the  city  on
surveillance duties.

Her voice was low, cold: 'Obviously it was a trap, or else no one  would
have  been backing  up the  traitor Yoshitaro.  It was  lucky I   sensed
something going  awry, or  none of  us might  have made  it out  of that
armpit alive.'

One of the men who'd been with Angie thought of asking why she'd shot at
that girl, who didn't seem to be doing anything but waving, but  thought
better, remembering three other deserters who'd challenged her, and been
dumped out the back door  into the water, wearing sleeping  bags wrapped
in chains and neat holes id their foreheads.

'I don't know who  he's working for, the  Force, the police, the  'Raum,
but we'll find him, eventually,' she promised. 'But in the meantime,  we
need to strike back, strike hard. Here is our next target. It's the main
place of worship  for the 'Raum,  just at the  entrance to the  Eckmuhl.
Eit, Wiglaf, you've been sur-veilling it, right?'

'Right.' one  man said.  'It's a  go target.  Nice, soft,  easy in, easy
out.'

'We'll use a bomb this  time,' Angie said, 'and station  shooters around
the sides. After it blows, we'll run two magazines through our  weapons,
then break contact.'

The first  beard to  die was  the sentry.  He turned,  surprised, as the
small door next to  the lifter entrance opened  and a spring knife  went
into his  throat. Two  'Raum eased  his body  to the  floor, and Garvin,
Njangu and the rest of the first attack group slipped inside.

The  huge room  was bright,  lights hanging  in rows  along the   curved
ceiling. It was  filled with aisle  after aisle of  goods, some stacked,
some on  shelves. Steps  led to  an upper  level with  darkened offices.
Njangu went up  the steps, scanned  the long aisles  below, heard voices
from the rear, pointed the way to the 'Raum, came back down.

The 'Raum on the other  two street entrances got inside  without raising
an alarm, but the last group,  closest to the beards, grated their  door
open.

Angle's hand blurred for her gun, and she shot the first two 'Raum,  and
another beard  pitched a  grenade into  the doorway.  The blast sent the
group stumbling back.

Garvin, down an  aisle at the  warehouses' other end,  saw a man  with a
blast rifle, shot him, knelt, and sent bolts spitting down the aisle.  A
beard shot back, and Garvin, as he rolled to the side. was blinded by  a
warm, sticky fluid. He  wiped his hand across  his eyes, saw red,  had a
panicked moment, realized the bolt  had shattered a carboy of  some sort
of sweet drink on the shelf  above him, rolled into the next  aisle, and
sent half a magazine roaring down toward the deserters.

The warehouse was a chaos of shouting, screaming, shots, and explosions.
The two groups from the side deployed across the open loading area. Five
beards, knowing they'd see no mercy from the 'Raum, were behind a  stack
of loading pallets, methodically dropping their attackers.

'Surprise.'  Njangu said,  stepping out  from an  aisle behind  them,  a
seized rifle at  his shoulder. They  spun, but too  late as his  blaster
chattered, and four men and a woman curled, screaming.

Njangu couldn't hear anything,  momentarily deafened by the  ferocity of
the firefight, and then a 'Raum was shaking him, his lips forming  words
'All down! All of them are down!'

An instant later he was proved false, as Angie blew the 'Raum's head off
and charged  toward the  wharf exit,  shooting as  she went. She changed
magazines, jumped over the doorsill  onto the wharf. Her partner  paused
to fire back into the  warehouse as flames flickered and  smoke billowed
from a pile of boxes.

Garvin took  careful aim,  and blew  half his  chest away,  then started
shouting, 'Break contact! Break  contact! They're gone!' and  slowly the
'Raum came down from battle  madness, standing in haze amidst  scattered
bodies.

He thought, not surprised. So much for prisoners, shouldered a  wounded,
moaning 'Raum, saw one of the  beards writhing in pain, shot him  in the
head, then ran,  stumbling, toward the  eastern exit, the  farthest from
where the police response should  come. 'Raum streamed after him,  their
leaders shouting commands to pick up the wounded, the dead. Some obeyed,
some just fled, Njangu was at the  rear, the body of a 'Raum woman  over
his shoulder, then they were out  of the warehouse. The fire inside  was
spreading,  leaping  from aisle  to  aisle, and  smoke  poured from  the
ceiling vents. Njangu heard the  scream of sirens across the  city, told
his  mind to  disregard that,  and began  zig-ging through  back  alleys
toward the Eckmuhl.


Angie  Rada skidded  around a  corner, breath  searing, saw  the  police
lifter blocking the narrow street and the half dozen riot cops  crouched
behind it, guns aimed. 'Drop the weapon,' the lifter's PA set boomed.

Angie ducked into a shop entrance, snapped a shot at the lifter and  the
PA set screeched into silence. She shot  at a cop, saw him grab his  leg
and convulse. 'Come on, you  bastards, come on,' she shouted,  and there
was fierce joy in her voice.


The Eckmuhl  exulted that  night, and  no one,  not the  Force, not  the
police, was stupid enough to  send patrols inside the walls.  Njangu and
Garvin sat in that night's safe house with Jo Poynton. 'Shall we go  out
and reap our benefits?' Garvin asked. 'Not forgetting our 'escorts'?'

'Wait a moment,' Poynton said.  'There's someone Njangu should meet.'  A
moment later the  door opened, and  a medium-sized man  came in. He  was
unremarkable  except for  his thick  chest and  muscled arms,  and  then
Njangu met his eyes, eyes that held and burned.

'This is the Big Man,' Garvin said, unnecessarily.

Njangu extended his palm, but Jord'n Brooks nodded instead of using  the
standard Confederation greeting. 'At the  moment, I use the name  Tver,'
Brooks said. 'Although that changes. And I do not like being called  the
Big Man. There is no one in The Movement bigger than another.'

Njangu stared skeptically,  couldn't decide if  Brooks believed what  he
was saying.

'It would appear,'  Brooks said, 'you  two are a  positive asset to  our
cause.'

Garvin inclined his head in thanks.

'My emphasis is on 'appear,'

' Brooks said. 'You  helped us... but you  also helped the cause  of the
Rentiers.'

'How do you figure?' Njangu said interestedly.

'Certainly the Force  is delighted to  have these lunatics  named beards
out  of  the way.  Their  own killers  work  more subtly.  And  the real
controllers  of  this system,  those  with real  intelligence,  can't be
pleased with what happened, knowing every atrocity the beards  committed
drove more and more of our brothers and sisters into activism.'

'Your mind works  in strange ways,'  Garvin said, a  little hostility in
his voice.

'That's  why I've  remained afive,  and why  The Movement  continues  to
grow,' Brooks said calmly, stating facts, no more. 'But I don't want you
to be angry at what I  said. Perhaps, even probably, it's not  true, and
you're sincere converts. As time passes, and you perform other  missions
for us, my words will perhaps be proven false, hateful.

'Perhaps.' He nodded, went back out.

Poynton shrugged. 'He is what he is. And we all serve him willingly.'

'Maybe so,' Garvin  muttered. 'But I'm  not sure I  have to like  him. I
think I'm gonna go out and  find some masses to lavish gratitude  on me.
Coming?'

'Maybe in a  bit,' Njangu said.  'I want to  shave, wash up  first. I'll
meet you, where? Around midnight, somewhere around that big church?'

''Kay,' Garvin said. 'If I'm not there, I've found a better party.'

'The same goes for me.' Garvin gave Njangu a thumbs-up, went out.

'Your friend isn't afraid to speak his mind,' Poynton said.

'No,' Njangu agreed. 'That's why he's got me around, to keep him out  of
trouble.'

'Perhaps I  could show  you a  bit of  our gratitude,'  Poynton said. 'I
happen to have a bottle of a very good  wine, even if it is just from  D
Cumbre, in  my quarters  I've been  saving for  some sort  of victory. I
don't like to drink alone.'

'You  have  a  deal.  Fearless Leader  and  Intelligence  Honcho  of the
Universe,' Njangu said. 'But give me half an hour. I still smell  scared
to me.'


Njangu shut the old-fashioned shower off, considered its ending  dribble
through the ancient,  rusted head. Not  much of a  'fresher, compared to
the  omnidirectional  water cannons  in  the Force's  barracks,  nor the
lavish 'freshers in some of the expensive hotels he'd blown the  profits
from a successful villainy in. But it was better than being pissed on by
a  bandit,  and just  a  bit better  than  the 'fresher  in  the crowded
apartment he'd grown up in.

Outside the building, he heard  the continuing roar of the  celebration.
He pulled the curtain aside a bit, and a hand extended a towel.

'I'm not looking,' Jo Poynton said.

Njangu took the towel and dried himself, thoughtfully re-evaluating  the
'Raum intelligence  chief. Just  because he  was terrified  she'd expose
him... although  not quite  this literally...  didn't mean  he couldn't,
wouldn't, at least if she were interested? She certainly wasn't hard  on
anybody's eyes,  and was  an equally  long way  from being  stupid. Very
strange, he thought, knotting the  towel around him and putting  a smile
on.

'You're sure you're not peeking?'

'Maybe...just a little.'

He stepped out  of the shower.  Poynton was sitting  cross-legged on the
wooden laundry hamper that  opened on a drop  from aeons ago, when  this
building had prosperous  tenants, before it'd  been divided and  divided
again into a  warren. She wore  a loose, blue-velvet  jumpsuit whose top
wrapped around and tied at her  waist. She was barefoot, and smelled  of
exotic fruits. Looking  as she did,  rather than the  dedicated warrior,
Njangu realized that  she was probably  no more than  two, perhaps three
years older than he  was. He felt his  body stir. It'd been  a long time
since Deira and... he closed his mind off, admired Poynton.

Beside her was  her always-present pistol,  an open bottle  of wine, and
two  mismatched glasses.  She poured  a golden  wine into  each,  handed
Njangu one. 'To victory.'

'To victory,' Njangu replied, honestly.

She picked up the bottle, went out of the 'fresher into the  apartment's
main room.  There were  still scars  from Njangu's  redecoration on  the
wall.

'You didn't have to destroy my apparatus quite so thoroughly,' she said.

'Sorry. But I don't like being spied on.'

Poynton grimaced. 'If we don't know everything, then we are vulnerable.'

Njangu didn't answer, went to  the window, looked out. The  streets were
full of 'Raum, shouting, singing, and the intermittent,  seldom-repaired
street lighting was augmented with flaring torches. He heard music  from
two directions, wildly differing tunes.

'This,'  Poynton said,  coming up  behind him,  'is what  it was   like,
before, during our holidays.'

'And will be again.'

'I hope so,' she said, drinking. 'But many of us have died.'

'People get over pain,' Njangu said. 'That's one of the things that lets
us keep living.'

Poynton  considered   him  thoughtfully.   'That's  a   fairly  profound
observation from someone as young as you.'

Njangu lifted his glass to her, drank.

'So,' she said, coming toward him,  'shall I turn my back while  you get
dressed, and we can go out and  see what manner of amusements are to  be
found?'

'If we did,' Njangu said, 'it would be with my 'escorts' behind me.  And
your bodyguards.'

'Yes,' Poynton said.

'In here, there aren't any extraneous people.'

'No.'

'I'm not particularly hungry, are you?'

'No,' she said. 'Not... not for food.'

'And we have our wine.'

'Yes.'

Njangu reached out a finger, ran  its nail from her throat down  the vee
of her neckline. Poynton caught her breath. 'That feels very good,'  she
said, her voice low. 'Perhaps better than it should.'

'Doesn't The  Movement have  rules about  fraternizing with  low-rankers
like me?'

'Why should we?' Poynton said.  'We 'Raum are sensible about  things. At
least about some things.'

She  stretched,  hands  lifting  over  her  head.  She  was  only  a few
centimeters shorter than he was. Njangu came very close, and she  lifted
her lips, eyes closing.

He kissed her,  and her tongue  came to meet  his, and her  arms dropped
around him. Their mouths worked together, becoming more frantic, and his
hand  found the  tie of  the jumpsuit,  pulled, and  it fell  away.  Her
nipples rose against his chest.

The kiss ended, and she whispered, 'It was a very long time, out in  the
jungle, where your own smell disgusted you, and you wouldn't want anyone
to smell your stink.' She untied the knot on his towel, tossed it  away,
let the jumpsuit slide down her long legs, and pool on the floor. Njangu
picked her up, and  she was very light,  and carried her to  the waiting
bed.


Garvin  sat, comfortably  alone, back  to the  stone wall  of the  great
church, watching the crowd eddy  around him. He was slightly  drunk, and
quite content. /  guess Njangu found  something better to  pass the time
with. Wonder if Poynton... naw. Never the chance. She's too wound up  in
revolution to ever think about getting naked with anybody. Pity, because
when I think about it, she's not that bad-looking. Get her to smile more
often, and-

'Mister?'

Garvin saw a very young redhead in front of him. Her hair was cut short,
and her lips, nails, earlobes and eyelids had been tinted blue. She wore
a deep  red, loose-fitting  pair of  pants, matching  blouse, with cloud
patterns that made her look even younger than she was.

'Heh-lo,' he said, reflexively  putting on an ostentatiously  lascivious
grin.

'You're one of  the people who  came over to  us from the  Force, right?
That man over there said you led the raid against those bastards today.'
She pointed, and Garvin saw one of his escorts.

I shall do something about that bigmouth, he thought.

The girl caught his expression. 'That's all right, mister. I'm with  The
Movement,  too. I  do decoy  work, outside.  I' ve  brought down   seven
myself,' she said proudly.

Garvin covered his reaction. 'So what can I do for you?'

'I saw you, and another man from the Force yesterday, going into one  of
our houses.'

'Ah?'

'He was a tall man, dark-skinned. Short hair. Good-looking.'

'Maybe I know somebody like that,' Garvin said cautiously.

'He told me his name was Njangu once?'

'That could be my friend.'

'Do you know where  he is? I spent  a little time with  him... before he
decided to  join us.  It was...  sort of  nice. I  wanted to  know if he
wanted to... get together again.'

'No idea where he's at,' Garvin said honestly. 'No idea at all.'

'Oh,'  the  girl said  disappointedly,  then brightened.  'Are  you with
anybody? My name's Limnea.'

Garvin shook his head.

'Lonely?'

'Not really.'

'Oh,' the girl said. '

'Kay, as you Force people say.'  She turned away. 'I guess I'm  the only
one who doesn't like being alone.'

Garvin thought of  Jasith, far distant  in the Heights,  looked again at
the girl. It was  late, and he was  alone, senses alert, his  mind still
not believing he hadn't been killed in that brief nightmare of blood  in
the warehouse.

'No,' he said slowly.  'No, you're not the  only one.' The girl  turned,
and he saw hope in her eyes. 'So what does a stranger in the Eckmuhl  do
to celebrate?'

'I'll show you,' Limnea breathed. She licked her lips. 'I'll show you.'


Njangu made sure Poynton was sleeping soundly, crawled over her and  out
of the  bed. He  dressed hastily,  slipped out  of the  door, and let it
close behind him. The door to his escorts' rooms was shut. He  listened,
heard someone snoring within.

Sure. Why worry when your boss is making sure the subject's quite firmly
in place. He went down the long, worn stairs to the street.

It was  only a  few hours  before dawn,  and the  celebration was mostly
over, although  he could  still hear  a few  drunks singing  loudly. For
straight-laced cutters, he thought, these  'Raum sure have an open  mind
about unwinding.

Two blocks away was one of the few unbroken public coms. He went for it,
circling  back twice.  There was  no tail.  He fed  coins in  the  slot,
grinning at the sudden  thought of a spy  dooming himself by not  having
correct change, listened to the dull ringing.

An alert voice came: 'Sibyl Monitor.'

'Wake Hedley up,' he ordered.

The voice protested.

'Dammit, wake him up! This is Sibyl Black.'

The voice went away. Njangu waited,  back to the com. If anyone  came...
he wished  he'd taken  Poynton's pistol...  and then  Hedley was  there.
'Listening. Recording.'

Njangu spoke  briefly, a  report he'd  rehearsed waiting  for Poynton to
fall into deep sleep. There was silence when he, finished.

'That was pretty bold work,' Hedley finally said.

'Seemed like the best plan.'

'No way you could  have dropped the dime  to us? You haven't  checked in
since you went over the wall, and we were starting to worry.'

'Goddammit, boss,  you want  to come  in here  and play  boo with  these
bastards?'

'Sorry,'  Hedley said.  'Shouldn't second-guess.  Is this  a  continuing
commo point?'

'Negative.  Still  looking  for  some  kind  of  secure  way  to  report
regularly, and this ain't it.'

'What's going to happen next?'

'More shootings, more bombings,' Njangu said. 'They're building up.'

'That doesn't  take anybody  on the  inside to  tell,' Hedley  said. 'Is
there anything we can do for you?'

'Yen,' Njangu said. 'Get that  AC ofGarvin's... Dill. And his  crew, and
the best Grierson the Force has  got. With a couple of Zooks.  When this
thing breaks, we're gonna want to come home at lightspeed, and we may be
a little hot around the edges.'

''Kay,' Hedley said. 'Keep us posted.'

'What option do I have?'


'You know what I want you  to do now?' Limnea said. She  sprawled across
the bed, naked. A candle burned on either side of the bed.

'What?' Garvin said, trying not to sound exhausted. Goddamn that  Njangu
anyway. Just because he kept  himself from getting killed by  this decoy
by screwing her until she was too shot to signal doesn 't mean I'm up to
playing Super stud. Lord, how  I'd like to be doing  something sensible,
like sleeping.

'Open up  that drawer,'  Limnea said.  Garvin found  long scarves. 'Take
four  of  them,'  Limnea  ordered.  'Tie  my  hands,  my  ankles  to the
bedsteads.'

Garvin  did  as told,  considered  her pert  buttocks,  rearing at  him,
decided he might not be that tired.

'Now I can't move,' she said. 'Now you can do anything you want to  with
me, can't you? You could whip me if you wanted to. Or... or hurt me.'

'I, uh, guess so. But I don't like-'

'I like strong men,' she whispered. 'I like not being able to stop a man
from doing whatever he wants. Lean close, and I'll tell you what I  want
you to do to me.'

Garvin did, and she whispered. He blinked, a bit shocked. 'You're sure?'

'Oh yes,  oh yes,'  she breathed.  'Please? Now,  oh please  do it to me
now!'


As far as Njangu could tell, Poynton hadn't moved since he left,  curled
on her side. He slid out of his clothes, and started to climb over her.

She stirred. 'Where were you?' she said, voice sleep-sodden.

'I had to use the facilities.'

'Mmmh.' She rolled onto her back, and slid the blanket away.

'As long as  we're both awake,'  she said, lifting  her legs around  his
waist and pulling him down  toward her warmth. 'Tomorrow the  war begins
again.'


The last two beards were shot  down by police, trying to rob  a delivery
truck, two days later.



CHAPTER 33

Poynton was right-the war did go on. Nastily, messily, fought in  alleys
and  at  night  or  on sun-drenched  streets,  beaches  and  around calm
lagoons.


'Victory is just within our grasp,' Caud Williams said to the  assembled
journalists. 'There will be no more than a few short months of  turmoil,
lessening as time passes, and if  all of us pull together, from  Rentier
to  'Raum, Cumbre  will have  the peace  it deserves.'  The media   reps
cheered him, the cheering led by Loy Kouro of Matin.


Three more islands  were privately conceded  to be under  the control of
the 'Raum, and a security hold placed on all media regarding the loss.


Njangu  and  Garvin  were detailed  for  special  assignments by  Jord'n
Brooks, training  recruits in  weapons-handling and  tactics. They  were
always accompanied by their escorts, and never left the Eckmuhl.

Twice, Jo Poynton asked Njangu if he wished to spend the night with her.
Otherwise, there seemed to be no change in their relationship. When they
were  alone, Njangu  asked as  many questions  as he  dared-and  Poynton
seemed happy to repeat the  legends of Brooks, his invulnerability,  and
his rapid rise to head The Movement.

Neither Yoshitaro nor  Jaansma were able  to break free  to make contact
with the Force.

*   *   *

A meteorite  shot over  Dharma Island,  lighting the  night sky brighter
than all  three moons  at full  and disappeared  toward the unpopulated,
heavily jungled island of Mullion to the west. Many Cumbrians took it as
a sign of change, although no  one could agree on what the  change would
be. The 'Raum  quickly decided it  was a sign  from the One  who created
them, and their day was close at hand.


'Sir!' Now-Finf Hank Faull snapped a salute.

'Pull up a pew,' Hedley said. 'I got a request this morning, for anybody
in  the company  who's got  any experience  with the  'Raum. It'll  mean
transfer to II Section, a one-grade promo to dec, and maybe a chance  to
strike for tweg. Warmer, better-fed, and a damned sight safer'n  running
patrols with us. In case you didn't notice, we aren't exactly getting  I
A flipping skinny these days, not from prisoners nor from just listening
about.'

'No thanks, sir.'

'You didn't even have to think about it?' Hedley asked.

'Nossir.'

'None of my business, but why not?'

'I'm not a windy-ear,' Faull said, a bit of anger in his voice.

'Which means you won't spy on the people you used to be with?'

'Nossir. Not a chance, sir.'

'Spying blows goats, eh? But it's 'kay to shoot?'

Faull didn't answer.

'Won't argue,' Hedley said.  'Hell, if I were  you, I might do  the same
flipping thing. No hard feelings?'

'No hard feelings, sir.'

'Then get the hell out and do something useful.'


'I  won't lie  to you,  sir,' Cent  Angara said.  'We were  just  damned
lucky.' Caud Williams and Mil Rao scowled at the holo, an overhead  shot
of a crashed spaceship half-buried in jungle. 'We just happened to  have
an EW  ship airborne,  slaved to  a Zhukov  flight, waiting for possible
ground targets when that 'meteor'  entered atmosphere. One of the  techs
on the  Grierson scanned  the meteor,  found it  was a starship, checked
with  Cumbre  Control  and  found  nothing  was  inbound.  The  Grierson
Commander  challenged  it,  and  the  ship  commenced  evasive   action.
'

'He alerted the Zhukovs, and their flight commander... Golan Flight, one
Haut Chaka... decided to treat the ship as hostile, and ordered a Shadow
launch. They got a strike,  and Golan Flight tracked the  intruder until
it crashed.  Again, luck  was on  our side,  and the  ship didn't  burn,
although all three of its crewmen were killed.'

'Who were they?' Mil Rao asked.

'No idea, officially, sir. Their uniforms, gear were sterile. But I went
in on the site after dawn, and checked their supply cabinets. The foods,
drinks, were Larix and Kura in origin- I'm familiar with their ways.'

Rao glanced at Caud Williams. His face was flushed with anger,  although
he forced  calm into  his voice.  'And the  hold was  full of these?' He
indicated the open  case. It was  plas, padded on  the inside, and  held
five very simply designed projectile rifles.

'About  two thousand  of them,  sir. And  ammunition. No  manufacturer's
stamp or serial number on any of them,' Angara said.

'Primitive,' Rao offered, picking one up and squinting through its fixed
vee-sight.

'Good enough to  kill Forcemen,' Williams  snapped. 'Where was  the ship
going to land?'

'We're not sure.  sir. I ordered  the Grierson to  scan all frequencies,
and put up two  more ships as backup.  I picked up a  faint signal about
ten kilometers from Leggett on the coast, but it cut off when I  ordered
the EW ship to home on it.'

'Son of a spraddle-legged bitch,'  Williams swore. Rao looked at  him in
considerable surprise-the Force  commander almost never  used profanity.
'We've  not only  got these  'Raum to  worry about,  but somebody  who's
supposed to be on our side is obviously trying to backstab us.'

'Certainly not  a total  surprise, sir,'  Rao said.  'Not after  the way
Protector Redruth was so interested in 'helping' us a few months ago.'

'If the  'Raum win,'  Angara added,  'they'll have  to do  business with
somebody, and they  hate the Musth  too much to  deal with them...  plus
they'll probably  drive the  Musth off  C-Cumbre, then  need somebody to
protect them. Red-ruth. And in the long run Redruth's no doubt  thinking
that he can  smash the 'Raum  at leisure-he's got  spaceships and a  lot
more troops than we do-and end up with the whole system.'

'But how'd  he make  contact with  the 'Raum?  Do you  have any intel on
Redruth having any kind of a liaison man with them?'

'Nossir.'

'What about those men you have on the inside? Have they heard anything?'

'Sir,' Angara protested, 'this isn't a secure location.'

'For the  love of  Hildegard... my  own base  not secure...  very well,'
Williams  grumbled.  'Sorry  for   the  slipup.'  He  shook   his  head.
'Extraplanetary economics, trade  routes, mineralogy... they  never told
me I'd need any of this back on Centrum, when I was an aspirant.''

'Nor me, sir,' Rao said. Angara kept silent.

'Did you destroy the rest of these weapons?'

'Nossir,' Angara said.  'Had the usable  ones put in  one of our  dumps.
Just in case.'

'Probably a wise move,' Williams said. 'You can never be too well  armed
or  fit.  Come  on.  Mil.  We're  going  to  make  Plan-Gov  Haemer most
unhappy... and see about modifying  a star-ship or two and  putting them
out on the fringes  of the system. As  if we didn't already  have enough
enemies.'


Njangu encountered Jord'n Brooks that afternoon. The man gave him a hard
look and stamped past, into Poynton's office. If I were insecure,  which
of course I'm not, Njangu thought,  I'd think that maybe the Big  Man is
suspicious of me. But there's no reason for that. None at all. Something
all his very own must've gone wrong. Nevertheless, he covered the bug in
his  and Garvin's  apartment and  spent two  or three  hours  diligently
working.

*   *   *

'Chief,' Monique Lir  said heavily, 'I'm  just plain sorry.  But none of
those' emits were fit to lick the sweat off the balls of an I&R man,  so
I dropped 'em.'

Hedley grimaced. 'It isn't enough we're getting our flipping butts  beat
by the flipping 'Raum, but now we can't find any new crunchies qualified
to help us in our hour  of flipping despair. I'll be flipping  glad when
this is over, Monique, assuming we  win, so can start getting some  real
talent into the company.'

'Like who?' Lir asked. 'You  think we'll link up with  the Confederation
again?'

'I'm not holding my  breath on that one,'  Hedley said. 'I mean  when we
can start recruiting 'Raum.'

Lir  goggled.  Hedley chuckled.  'Sure.  Where do  you  think your  best
soldiers come from after a war? From the side whose butt you j ust beat,
if you' ve got any sense.'

'Which means,' Lir said, after  considering things, 'if things don't  go
like they should, I'll be applying for the First 'Raum Throat-slitters.'

'Uh-huh. And, most likely, I'll  be standing in line right  behind you,'
Hedley said.


Poynton went to Brooks that night,  very late, in the basement that  was
that night's headquarters.  The room was  spare- Brooks refused  even to
allow his commo man  to share the same  building with him, for  fear the
gear could be tracked. All that was in the room was a cot, a table  with
a map and a pistol on it, and Brooks' small day pack that held what  few
personal items he thought he needed.

'May I have a moment?' Brooks nodded. 'There was a message from my  main
agent on  C-Cumbre,' she  said. 'In  a private  code. There  is a  cargo
lighter that will leave the Mellusin Works the E-day after tomorrow. The
crew  has  been thoroughly  converted  to our  ways,  so it  will  carry
explosives and other devices for The Movement.'

'I'm aware of the shipment,' Brooks said.

'That  lighter  is  fitted  with  a  small  passenger  compartment   for
Mellusin's executives,' Poynton went on. 'I was informed that your  wife
and children can  be placed aboard  without any hazard.  Once the ship's
landed here, I can spirit them into the Eckmuhl without discovery.'

Hope flashed across Brooks' face, then he hastily shook his head.

'There's little risk,' Poynton said. 'The explosives are all binary, and
perfectly-'

'Wo,' he said more sharply.

'Yes, sir,' Poynton said.

'Wait,' Brooks said. 'Don't misunderstand me. I'm not saying no  because
I' m overly  concerned for my  children's safety... nor  for that of  my
estranged wife. When I left C-Cumbre, I swore I would live only for  The
Movement. If I allow myself to have my children here... or to allow  The
Movement to waste the slightest of its energies bringing them to me,  no
matter  how much  I wish  to see  them, then  I am  diminished, and  the
strength within me is diminished.

'And if I allow myself this weakness, when someone else wishes to devote
some of The Movement's time to his or her private affairs... well,  then
I would have little space to criticize them.

'Is that not correct.' It was not a question.

Poynton stared into  his blazing eyes,  then nodded, and  left the room.
She was a little frightened by his fanaticism... but a part of her  mind
thought: But that is why we serve, and he leads...


'When the hell are we gonna get Garvin out?' Kang asked.

Ben Dill shook his head. 'Dunno. They haven't told me anything.'

'You think he's still alive?' Gorecki asked.

'They think so,'  he said. 'Or  else they would've  put us back  on scut
patrol instead of sitting here with this ickle-pretty Grierson.'

'You know who I feel sorry for?' Kang said. 'That girl he's got.  Mellow
or  Mellis or  whatever her  name is.  She's got  to be  living on   her
fingernails.'

'She's rich,' Gorecki said. 'The hell with her.' But he didn't sound  as
if he meant it.

Ben Dill stared out  the hatch of the  Grierson at the deserted  landing
field, then, after a time, returned to polishing theACV's peephole to an
even clearer luster.

*   *   *

'Brothers Jaansma and Yoshitaro,'  Brooks said, 'I've determined  on the
special task I promised. You should  be aware our Time is racing  close,
and that  we will  be ready  to bring  our persecutors  to final  battle
shortly.'

Garvin blinked, but Njangu managed a 'Yes, sir. We're ready.'

'Good,' Brooks  said. 'You  will continue  training our  warriors as you
have been, but they won't be  recruits any longer, but some of  our more
experienced fighters.  You will  determine which  are suitable  for  sub
leader roles under your dual command,  and you will work with them  very
carefully, for they'll be your unit  on the Day, when your Task  will be
presented to you.'

'And what'll that be?' Garvin hazarded.

'It would be foolish to tell any warrior exactly his Task,' Brooke said,
'for fear  of compromising  that Task,  and others  if he were captured.
However, I'll  tell you  this... it  is something  you two  are uniquely
qualified for, and will give you the greatest moment of glory you  could
imagine.' He nodded the two of them out.

Njangu waited until they were in open air, and around a corner. 'Did you
figure out what he's going to do with us?'

'No,' Garvin said. 'But something tells me it's shitty.'

'I'll bet large credits that he's going to use our clubswingers, and us,
against the Force,' Njangu said. 'In his eyes, that'd be a real treat.'

'I'll be dipped... but I'll bet  you're right.' Garvin was silent for  a
moment.  'You know,  Njangu, I'm  starting to  think I'm  going to  like
killing that  giptel-screweT. What  a shitty  thing to  ask of  anybody.
Doesn't he have any loyalties to anything?'

'Probably not. Except  his goddamned Movement.  And the only  way you'll
slot him is if you get there before I do,' Njangu said.


'There's a  soldier here  to see  you. Miss  Jasith,' the  servant said.
Jasith  felt  her  heart  beat twice,  then  stop  for  an instant.  'An
officer?' She remembered seeing a holo once where a soldier was  killed,
and how an officer brought word to the soldier's wife.

'I don't think  so,' the servant  said/'0fficers got things  up here, on
their shoulders, and he's got slashes on his sleeve.'

Jasith  started  toward  the door.  One  of  her omnipresent  bodyguards
slipped from his alcove, loosening his pistol.

Standing in  the huge  mansion's foyer  was the  biggest man  she'd ever
seen.  Big, but  he had  a kindly   look on  his face,  so she  felt  no
fear.''Uh, Miss Mellusin,' the man said. 'My name's Dill. Ben Dill.'

'I've heard  of you...  you were...  are, Garvin's  leader in  that tank
thing. The man who tells him what to do.'

Dill nodded.

'What can I do for you... have you heard anything?'

Dill looked at the  bodyguard, who stared back.  'Tell him to go  away,'
Dill said. 'Or I can't say anything.'

'Dak?'

'I've got my orders, ma'am.'

Jasith waited, and he reluctantly left the room.

'I can only stay a second,' Dill  said. 'And I can't let you ask  me any
questions. I just wanted to tell you that Garvin's still alive.'

'How do you know?'

Dill shook his head. 'Can't  say. And I'm busting security  even telling
you what I did, so you can't  tell anyone at all, not even your  father,
for  fear of  what could  happen to  him. But  we thought...  I mean,  I
thought... you ought to know... 'Scuse me. I've got to be going.'

'Wait. I'll drive you to wherever-'

But the big man was out the door, and it closed silently behind him.  By
the time Jasith  had it open,  he was gone,  and no one,  not the roving
grounds patrol nor the two stationary  security posts at the end of  the
long drive had seen him come or go.


'This is your alert,'  Jo Poynton told Njangu  and Garvin. 'You will  be
required to perform a certain Task within the next three days. Rest  and
ready  yourselves, for  there will  be no  more important  Time in  your
life.'

There was a glow on her face, as if she'd just been promised Nirvana.

'We're ready  now,' Garvin  said, trying  to sound  heroic. 'I  know you
are,' Poynton said. 'I know you are.'


'So the shit's coming down,' Garvin said, 'and we're stuck here, with no
way to blow skibbereen on the operation.'

'Probably,'  Njangu  said, 'but  not  absolutely. I've  been  doing some
looking about this old house.'

'And?'

'Two floors  down, sixth  door, there  used to  some kind  of office. Or
maybe  a  gambler's den.  I  found four  com  lines when  I  checked the
building out  after we  moved in,  so I  knew your  average peasant-type
'Raum hadn't lived there. And guess what? One line is still live.'

'Shitfire and  save matches,'  Garvin said.  'If it's  still hooked  up,
what're the chances it's not bugged?'

'Damned near nonexistent,' Njangu said. 'That's why I thought you should
be the one to make the try.'

'And get killed?'

'Better than me, isn't it? Besides, you're the hero type, remember?'

'Bite,' Garvin said.

''Kay,' Njangu said. 'I'll be fair. You want to flip a coin?'

'Nope,' Garvin said. 'I'll go. Dummy that I am. When it quiets down  and
everybody's pretending to sleep.'


There was a  man in their  building who seldom  slept and, when  he went
out, kept his face turned away, to hide his shattered features. His name
was Lompa, and he was one of the two agents Poynton had ordered to  take
Garvin Jaansma alive,  long ago as  he walked back  from Bampur's party,
where he'd first met Jasith. He still had periodic headaches from  being
kicked in the head, and had to be careful what he ate.

He'd  heard  about  the  Forceman  who'd  deserted  to  the  'Raum,  and
instinctively knew his leaders  were wrong. Those giptels  never changed
their ways,  their habits,  and when  he saw  the traitor  was the tall,
blond man  who'd beaten  him so  badly, he  became very  sure. He was on
light duties because of his injuries, so it was easy to hang about,  and
unobtrusively follow the tall one wherever he went.

Now, late at night,  he saw Garvin Jaansma  creep out, and felt  triumph
surge. The two traitors would finally be exposed, and he would not  only
be revenged, but be rewarded for diligence and cunning. He went down the
hall after Jaansma.



CHAPTER 34

Lompa watched  Garvin, slinking  along like  the dog  he was.  The blond
giptel went downstairs, and Lompa waited for a count of three, followed.
He paused at  the landing, then  peered around the  lintel post, keeping
low. His quarry'd gone down another flight. Lompa crept toward the  next
set of stairs, and Garvin came out of an open doorway. Lompa started  to
scream, but  Garvin had  him by  the throat,  squeezing, squeezing.  The
world darkened, went to a pinpoint as Garvin pressed harder, and Lompa's
feet flailed, crashing against the wall.

The man went limp, and Garvin dropped him just as a door came open.  One
of Poynton's security men came out, rifle ready. The rifle came up,  and
there weren't any  options. Garvin crouched,  and the pistol  was out of
his waistband and firing.

The blast  reverberated through  the building,  and lights  went on, and
shouts began.  Garvin started  back toward  his rooms,  but heard  rapid
footsteps coming down the stairs. He fired three times quickly-the  near
universal symbol for  distress, hoping Njangu  would catch the  message,
and ran down toward  the exit. A woman  was on guard, and  she swung her
blaster toward him. Garvin shot her,  scooped up the rifle, and took  an
instant to tear her  ammunition belt off. A  bolt smashed into the  wall
above him, and he automatically shot  back, started for the rear of  the
building, when a hatch opened in the wall and Njangu Yoshitaro slid out.

'Guess you  screwed things  up, huh?'  was Njangu's  greeting. 'See if I
ever let you have all the fun again.'

'Come on,' Garvin said. 'The whole goddamned Eckmuhl will be after us in
a second.'

'Sounds like they already are,' Njangu said, and they were out into  the
night streets.  Garvin took  a moment  to muscle  a large  can of  trash
across the door, then they were running down the narrow alleys,  darting
here, there.

'Where'd you come from?' Garvin managed.

'Did...  a  few  basic  mods on  the  laundry  chute  yesterday,' Njangu
managed. 'With a rope or two  I happened to run across. Good  back door,
eh?'

Garvin  shot at  somebody who  was showing  a bit  too much   curiosity,
skidded into a narrow  alley that curved around  a building with only  a
single dim  streetlight. The  alley came  to a  dead end,  except for  a
single doorway into a ramshackle  building. 'Back,' he said, and  a bolt
screamed off the cobbles beside him.

Njangu booted in  the door, heard  screams. 'Out! Out!'  he shouted, and
'Raum  streamed  down  the  stairs.  Njangu  shouldered  past  into  the
building, Garvin after  him, as a  dozen armed 'Raum  rounded the corner
into the alley.

They were in one of the typical tiny Eckmuhl groceries, with almost-bare
shelves. Njangu scooped up two liter bottles of cooking oil, went up the
stairs, shouting 'Out' like a maniacal traffic director as he went. More
screams, more  shouts, and  more 'Raum  men, women,  and children boiled
downstairs. They pushed through the frenzy, saw an armed man, shot  him,
and the frenzy got louder. Njangu  peered in an open door, saw  bolts of
cloth and half-finished  garments. He put  a round into  a cloth-bonding
machine, and  its solvent  sprayed. He  hurled the  cooking oil  bottles
against  the wall,  and they  shattered, then  shot into  the mess,  and
nothing happened. 'Goddamn modem weapons,' he snarled, saw an  emergency
lantern and its igniter,  went across the room,  lit it, and dropped  it
into the pooled oil. There was a satisfactory foomf, and Yoshitaro  lost
most of his eyebrows and short-cropped hair.

The  screams were  louder, and  the 'Raum  panicked, trying  to get  out
before the building was engulfed. Shouts came below as someone tried  to
order chaos.

'That takes care of the back door. Now where?' Garvin asked.

'We got any options?'  Njangu panted. 'Up. To  the roof. We'll cross  to
the next  building from  there. These  goddamned warrens  all connect to
each other.'

But this one didn't. The seven-story building's neighbors were all  just
a bit too far for jumping.  Garvin set the rifle down, scuffled  through
the trash on the  rooftop, found a long  plank. 'Pray for me,'  he said,
and lugged the  plank to the  building's ramparts. It  looked just about
long enough, and he  let it fall across  to the next building's  roof to
become a bridge. His eye was about a meter off, and the plank pinwheeled
on down to smash into the street, and blaster fire came back up.

'They would' ve shot you off it, anyway,' Njangu sympathized.

'So what are we gonna do now?' Garvin asked.

'Hope like hell  the smoke attracts  attention,' Njangu said.  'And that
the fire department still makes house calls. Dawn's what, an hour or  so
away?'

Smoke boiled up through the  stairwell, and Garvin surveyed the  billow.
'Guess they won't come up that way.'

'Guess they don't have to.'

Garvin  heard  a whine,  saw  the lights  of  a lifter  coming  over the
rooftops, jumped to  his feet, and  waved wildly. 'It's  the police,' he
said. 'We're saved!'

The police lifter sped overhead, banked, and came back. Garvin  stupidly
stood in the middle of the roof, pistol in hand, waving, and then Njangu
tackled him, knocking him away  as the autocannon opened fire,  and 25mm
slugs chewed up the tar paper and debris around them. 'Next time...  try
waving without the goddamned gun!'  Njangu managed. 'Lie still and  look
dead, for Allah's sakes, and maybe they'll figure they got us.'

The lifter made another  pass, very low, low  enough so Garvin felt  the
wind of their passage. 'See what happens,' Njangu said, 'when you go and
depend on a cop?'


'Cent Angara,' the voice said. 'Wake up.'

The II  Section officer  rolled off  his bunk,  bleared at  the displays
around the Command Center. The Officer  of the Watch stood next to  him.
'Sir, the  scan reports  a fire  in the  middle of  the Eckmuhl, and the
police frequency says  they silenced two  snipers on the  rooftop of the
building.'

It didn't appear to  have anything to do  with them... but still.  'Turn
out  the alert  unit,' he  ordered. 'Put  an electronics  bird over  the
Eckmuhl. If nothing else,  we can relay for  the civilians. Wake up  Mil
Rao, but let the old man  sleep.' He hesitated. 'If they've got  snipers
out, maybe the whole thing's a blind to suck in the fire people. Get the
alert unit in the air, and have one, no two Zhukovs seconded to them.'

'Sir.'

'And is there any of that coffee left?'


Poynton burst into Jord'n Brooks' headquarters-a commandeered snack bar.
There  were  a  dozen  com  sets  around  the  room  with  their waiting
operators, all tuned  to various Force  and PlanGov frequencies.  Brooks
paced back and forth,  listening, eyes half-closed, sorting  through the
chatter. His eyes came fully open  as he reached a decision. He  went to
one silent com, a  high-frequency interplanetary 'caster, picked  up the
mike. Brooks touched  the mike's button.  'Leviathan, this is  Tver,' he
said.

'Leviathan,' a voice came back. 'Listening.'

'This is Tver. Situation altered. Begin Leviathan at once. I repeat,  at
once.'

'Leviathan. Operation under way.'

'The traitors failed,' Brooks said. 'This is now the Day, and the  great
Task begins.'

'Sir,' Poynton  started. 'I'm  sorry they  managed to  deceive me, and I
promise-'

'Sister,' Brooks  said, without  a hint  of anger,  'we're all  fools to
someone. The point is to ensure it never happens again.'

'It won't,' Poynton said. 'Do you still trust me for my Task?'

'Trust has nothing  to do with  it,' Brooks said.  'There is no  time to
choose and train another, even if I wished. Forget about what  happened,
as  I  told  you,  and  make  your  work  reap  twice  the  rewards   as
compensation.'

His smile  appeared quite  sincere. Poynton  hurried away,  remembering,
however, the time Brooks  had smiled just as  honestly, and then shot  a
double agent in cold blood.


Ben Dill  was already  awake, unable  to sleep,  when the  sirens blared
across Camp Mahan's parade ground. '

'Zatforus?' Kang asked sleepily.

'No. Don't think so.'

She sat up, reached  for her deliberately old-fashioned  spectacles, and
turned on the antique two-dee vid that had been their only entertainment
while waiting  to extract  Garvin and  Njangu. They  watched the various
'casts,  saw  nothing  but  the  usual  early-morning  drivel,  then the
stations started cutting away to sleepy-looking journohs.

'Something's going on,' she said, pointing out the obvious.

'And it's in the Eckmuhl,' Gorecki said, the noise having wakened him.

'Awright, awright,' Dill said. 'Let's warm it up. Maybe it is for us.'

'You're gonna have to have a word with that idiot Garvin,' Gorecki said.
'First  he goes  and lets  himself get  volunteered, then  starts  doing
something or other with the 'Raum. Your boy better straighten out. Dill,
for I'm getting  tired of being  his goddamned fast  ship every time  he
wants to stick his heinie in harm's vise.'


Njangu and Garvin lay motionless on top of the roof as smoke rose,  ever
thicker, ever more choking.  The air above was  alive with the whine  of
lifters, from  police to  fire to  media, and  the sky  was beginning to
gray.

'You got any bright ideas?'

'If we move,' Njangu said, 'they'll start shooting at us again.'

'And if we don't,' Garvin said, 'pretty soon we won't be able to.'

'As long as  it looks like  we're for it,'  Njangu said, 'mind  if I ask
just what the hell  you did before you  joined the Force? Hoping  for an
honest answer.'

'I told you the truth,' Garvin said. 'I ran a circus.'

'Yen. Right.'

'I  shit thee  nix,' Jaansma  said. 'Come  from a  long line  of  circus
families. Managers,  ringmasters, once  every now  and then  a high-wire
act, but those were mostly the black jeeps of the family.

'Generally  a Jaansma  kid'd work  for one  of the  family shins,  doing
everything from being a joey...  that's a clown... to a  slanging-buffer
in an arcade, then go out on  the road, somewhere out on the fringes  to
get seasoned, finally  end up with  one of the  big shows on  Centrum or
somewhere. But my folks  were killed in a  fire, and I ended  up with an
uncle who wasn't that connected. He did the best he could, and I  worked
the circuit some, but when I got  to be seventeen I jumped at the  first
circus that offered  a graft  for a  Jaansma, any  Jaansma. That  was Al
tair, on a world called Willy's Fortune, believe it or not.

'The  show was  a gam,  crooked from  the go.  Snakier than  any of  the
hustles you've told me about. Rigged wheels, girls, boys, anything for a
credit. About  the only  thing we  had that  was worth  a shit  were the
animal acts. I was the ringmaster, but since I was just a kid, I  didn't
have the  pull I  should've, and  the owners  didn't listen  when I said
things  were  going  sour,  and  even  the  diddly  flatties...   normal
citizens... we  were gaffing  were starting  to catch  on. So  I started
hanging out with the acts and trying  to figure out what I was going  to
do next, and where I was going to get the graft to pull out.

'The whole thing went  to shit about the  fourth month I was  with them.
Somebody started a rube  on the midway... a  fight in the middle  of the
circus... and it got nasty, going from fists to clubs to knives to guns.
I heard an animal scream, and saw some asshole trying to set fire to the
tent we had the grai- that's Earth horses-in. I went a little apeshit.'

'You shot him?' Njangu said,  fascinated in spite of the  madness around
them.

'Not quite,' Garvin said. 'I opened the big cats' cages.'

'You what1'!'

'And the bears,' Garvin said. 'Sic'ed them on the flatties. Then I  took
off. Ended up on the neighbor world of Klesura, about busted, seeing the
stories of how many deaths I'd caused get bigger and bigger, and all  of
a sudden there was this recruiting office.'

'Remind me,' Njangu  said thoughtfully, 'never  to get you  ', seriously
pissed at me.'

C-Cumbre

The 'Raum at the controls of  the cargo lighter had been the  best, most
reliable pilot at his mine, and there'd been considerable wonderment  at
his disappearance with his craft. He,  and a few other 'Raum, hid  in an
abandoned  survey  station  in the  middle  of  nowhere, resupplied  and
equipped by sympathizing crews of the ships that shuttled back and forth
between D-Cumbre and C-Cumbre.

The strange  device in  the back  of the  lighter had  come from  a park
monument dedicated  to the  memory of  the early  settlers of the Cumbre
system. It had been mounted  in an archaic lifter, and  fired explosives
in long rows, clearing lanes through the jungle. The apparatus had  been
stolen  from  the  park,  carefully  cleaned  and  refurbished  by 'Raum
technicians who guessed at what they were doing without manuals, without
anything other  than  old holos,  then,  after testing,  smuggled  to  C
Cumbre.

The pilot took the lighter out of its 'hangar,' a haphazard-looking pile
of scrap plas, and, barely two meters above the ground, drove toward the
horizon.


'This is Matin,'  Loy Kouro bayed  into the mike,  'giving the News  You
Need, When  You Need  It, Loy  Kouro transmitting.  Our Matin  lifter is
above the suspicious fire raging in the Eck-muhl. Our firefighters  have
been unable to enter the district and combat the fire due to sniper fire
from 'Raum banditry.

'But your Matin crew  is over the scene,  as you can see.  We're trying,
with our high-powered stabilized  light-amplified cams, to show  you two
of the snipers who made the mistake of shooting at a police lifter,  and
were shot down for their pains.

'Here... come in a little closer  on that... here we are... now  you can
see them, and...  Great God, from  what I'm seeing  on my pickup  one of
them at least appears to be  one of the degenerates who've deserted  our
fighting Force to join with the scum who call themselves The Movement.

'Yes, look at that one's blond  hair... no 'Raum ever looked like  that!
Matin sends its compliments to our best, our police, and if you'll stand
by,  we'll give  you more  coverage of  the fire  that's raging  out  of
control in-'


'Son of  a bitch,'  Gorecki swore,  staring at  the screen.  'Ben. Look.
That's Garvin on that goddamned roof.'

'No,' Dill said. 'Yes.  The bastards got him...  no, look. His lips  are
moving. He's still alive... and so's Yoshitaro, next to him.' He took  a
deep breath.'

'Kay, troops. There go my stripes. Saddle up. We're on our way.'

*   *   *

'No ideas?' Garvin said.

'Shut up. I'm thinking.'

A blaster round spanged off metal a meter or so away.

'Now they've got shooters on the rooftops around us,' Garvin said. 'This
isn't playing out as any fun at all.'

'At least the smoke makes it hard for them to get any accuracy,'  Njangu
said.

'Don't be such a pessimist.'

Garvin edged one hand down to his pistol. 'I don't have any intention of
frying,' he said.

'Nope,' Njangu agreed. 'Give me another  minute, and if I can't come  up
with something, we'll take on those snipers.'

'Good a way to go as any,' Garvin agreed.


Dill's  Grierson floated  out of  the hangar,  Ben in  the open   hatch,
wondering what lie he'd use for takeoff clearance, as a column of troops
double-timed out  of the  I&R barracks  toward waiting  Cookes. At their
head was Alt Hedley. He spotted Dill, waved him down. 'You saw the  news
flash?'

'Yessir.'

'And were gonna cowboy off to the flipping rescue?'

'Something like that.'

'Dumbshit. Hang back. I've got clearance from Mil Rao- the old man's  in
another flipping conference  with Haemer-to go  beat things up  a little
bit. We're going  to suppress whatever  snipers they really  have on the
rooftops, and there'll  be a flight  of Zooks inbound  if we need  heavy
hitters. Rao's got the rest of  the flipping Force saddling up now.  You
go  on  and get  those  two flipping  idiots  out. Or  bring  back their
bodies.'

'I'm gone,' Dill said,  and touched his throat  mike. 'Take it on  up at
speed, m'boy, and balljack toward the smoke. Kang, anything that you see
shooting, level the suckers. It's time to quit fiddle-farting around.'

C-Cumbre

The cargo lighter came  out of the low  valley it'd been following,  and
the Musth Mining Center was in front of it. There were two of the  aksai
attack ships grounded on the landing field, and half a dozen cargo ships
that looked like bloated seedpods, but nothing in the yellow, dirty air.
The scattering of missile sites around the headquarters was unmanned.

'Be ready,' the pilot  commanded. Two of the  'Raum were already at  the
controls  of  the  explosive  planter in  the  back,  and  didn't bother
responding. The last, sitting beside the pilot, muscled a 20mm cannon on
an improvised mount into position.

'Strike at the animals' combat ships first,' the pilot ordered, and  the
gunner  opened fire,  and dust  spurted across  the field  and over  the
aksai. One gouted flames, the other crumpled to the side.

'Good,' the driver approved, then was too busy to say more as he  closed
on the buildings. A 'Raum in the back closed a large breaker switch, and
the  launcher  chugged  rhythmically,  each  blast  hurling impact-fused
charges of  Telex to  either side.  The explosives  spattered across the
rooftops,  shock waves  rocked the  lifter, and  smoke and  black  flame
gouted. The lifter cleared the buildings, and came back in another pass.
X-ing across its first line of destruction.

On its third  pass, two Musth  had reached a  launch station. A  missile
blasted out of  its tube, smashed  into the lighter,  and it snap-rolled
upside down, dived into one building, and exploded. Moments later, black
flame shot high into the greasy atmosphere as something within the Musth
buildings  detonated.  Of  the approximately  eighty-four  Musth  at the
mining station, fewer than half a dozen survived.


'This is Tver.  Begin Plan Tumbril,'  Jord'n Brooks ordered,  and on the
outskirts of Leggett a rented storage shed's door came open, and a long,
luxury lifter stolen six months earlier was pushed out.


Dill's Grierson soon outdistanced the swarm of Cookes, soaring closer to
the pillar of  smoke in mid-Leggett  and, in turn,  was passed by  three
hurtling Zhukovs, each outlined by the rising sun.

'Unknown Grierson,'  a voice  came in  Dill's helmet.  'This is Cambrai.
Going our way?'

'This is Sibyl Black Recovery. That's a big affirm.'

'Good to have you along. We'll try to keep things nit and tiddy for  our
little brothers behind us.'

'Get some,' Dill said, and got a double-clicked mike in response.


'Straight in,' Haut Chaka ordered,  'and try not to obliterate  too many
civvies.' The Zhukovs roared across the lower city toward the  Eckmuhl's
walls. 'Not  too fast,'  Chaka advised.  'Gunner! Don't  bother me  with
chitchat. Targets of opportunity.'

One gunner saw the sparkle of gunfire from a rooftop to the left of  the
burning building, swung the Zhukov's main turret, and the 35mm  chaingun
sprayed the roof clean. The second  gunner targeted a group of 'Raum  in
the streets below, and sent  a single Shrike almost straight  down, into
their midst.


'Fiddleemee,' Garvin howled as  the heavy gunships swept  overhead. 'You
can stop thinking now, little brother.'

Njangu rolled to where a blaster lay. A 'Raum two buildings away saw his
movement, and blazed  a burst across  the rooftop, missing  Yoshitaro by
inches. Njangu fired  back and didn't  miss. 'Now, if  the smoke doesn't
get us,' he said, coughing.

Garvin leaned over the edge of the building and let half a magazine roll
down the barrel of  his blaster, spraying the  street below. 'I do  hope
all  good  little boys  and  girls are  sleeping  in this  morning,'  he
murmured, looked for a specific target. He found three 'Raum leaning out
of a window two blocks down, aiming some sort of crew-served weapon, and
blew the room in around them.  The air came alive with the  shrill whine
of Cookes, swarming into the Eckmuhl like invading mosquitoes.


'All right,' Lir told  her driver. 'I want  you to put it-'  The Cooke's
engine  hiccuped, died.  'Aw, goddammit!'  she swore.  'If you're  gonna
crash, find something worth hitting.'

'I can flare it. boss,' the  driver said, yanking at the controls.  'How
about that little round building?'

'Just get  it down,'  Monique ordered.  'Flying makes  me nervous.'  The
Cooke pancaked onto the roof of the building, and Beta Team spilled off.
'First take care of anybody above us,' Lir shouted. 'Then we'll get  the
midgets down below.'

*   *   *

A spurt of flame sent the rooftop door spinning upward. 'Getting close,'
Garvin said over the roar of the fire.

'Too close,' Njangu managed. Garvin noticed Yoshitaro's slightly toasted
features for the first time.

'Aren't you a little young to be so bald?'

'Runs in the family,' Njangu managed. 'Get-'

A round spanged off the roof and seared through Garvin's upper shoulder.
Njangu spun, saw the gunman on a rooftop, and shot him down.

Garvin sat down suddenly. 'Getting shot hurts,' he said thoughtfully.

'No kid. You gonna die on me?'

'Dunno,'  Garvin managed.  'But I  sure could  use a  painkiller and   a
soothing kiss.'

'Fresh out of both. Maybe-'

A long, mottled  monster nosed out  of the smoke  onto the rooftop,  its
hatch opened  and Ben  Dill's head  appeared. Kang  appeared beside him.
'Come on,' Kang shouted. 'I'm missing good targets!'

Njangu and Garvin stumbled across and up the ramp. A 'Raum shot at them,
and the bolt  spanged off the  armor plate beside  Yoshitaro. He managed
the universal twin-fingered  salute before the  ramp slammed up  and the
Grierson nosed down and away at full drive.


'Look  at all  those flipping  people,' Hedley  said. 'And  they've  got
flipping guns  and everything.  Alpha Troop...  ground it  in that  open
square, and advance by teams.'

The Cookes slid  in for landings,  and the men  of I&R Company  came out
fighting. The 'Raum broke, began retreating deeper into the tangled  web
of the Eckmuhl.

Hedley picked up his mike. 'Lance Six, this is Sibyl Six.'

Rao's voice came. 'Sibyl Six, this is Lance Six. Go ahead.'

'I've got lots and lots of baddies. Lance, and they want to butt  heads.
We could use all the people you want to throw in.'

'This is  Lance Six...  First Regiment  on the  way. Use  your people to
guide them to targets.'

'Flipping-A,' Hedley said. 'Happy to help. Sibyl Six out.'

The Eckmuhl was no longer a sanctuary.

*   *   *

Ton Milot had  his blaster slung  over his shoulder,  and three portable
rocket launchers under one arm, and a case of ammunition beside him.  He
crouched behind a statue of something or other that'd been blasted  into
unrecognizability. Take a minute to  think about things. You don't  want
to go and do something stupid and get shot, he thought. The rest of  the
guys are over there... and the 'Raum are over there. So I'd best get  my
young  ass  moving, like  yesterday,  but cutting  around  this frigging
statue, out of  the line of  fire. He grabbed  the re-supply, burst  out
into the open, thudding along, seeing bolts smash into the pavement, not
letting his mind realize it, come on now, twenty-five meters to go,  you
can fly over  that, just like  training, those bullets  won't really hit
you, you 're doing fine, just fine-

Something smashed his leg, and he crashed headlong, tasting grit, blood,
smelling smoke, and  pain grabbed him,  like a red-hot  clamp pulling at
his thigh, and he saw blood,  and other bullets were beating the  ground
around him. He felt a thud, saw blood stain his uniform sleeve black. He
couldn't move, and  guessed this was  about all, that  he'd die in  this
goddamned  dirty-ass sun-baking  square, never  see the  boats or  Lupul
again, and-

-And somebody had him  by the back of  his combat vest and  was dragging
him, and  pain seared,  but he  bit his  lip hard,  No, dammit,  I won't
scream. And  the sun  was gone,  and he  was in  the shade, being rolled
over, and  hands were  tearing his  pants open.  Fuzzy shapes  above him
became figures, and he saw one of the Troop medics, and next to him  was
Hank Faull.

'Where the hell did you come from?' Milot croaked. 'You're in Vie  Team,
aren't you?'

'Saw you go down,' Faull said. 'Thought you might need a hand.'

'Hank, my friend,  my father, my  mother, my brother,'  Milot said. 'You
can have anything I've got. You can  drink on me from now until the  sun
goes black. If  you ever want  to cheat on  your wife, I'll  provide the
giggler and the alibi.'

Faull  grinned,  started  to say  something,  then  looked startled.  He
slumped forward across Ton  Milot, as if all  the bones in his  body had
melted. Another soldier was there, pulling Faull away, and Ton Milot saw
the fist-sized hole in Hank Fault's back.

'No,'  Ton Milot  managed. 'That  can't be.  That can't  be.' Then   the
universe went black.

The  medic shouted,  'Get a  lift in,  dammit! I've  got one  down,  one
critical. Come on, people!'


'They're in that building over there, Petr,' Penwyth said. 'We'll need a
goddamned airstrike to get 'em out. That goddamned door's solid steel or
something, and they've got the windows sandbagged. Not to mention  we're
more'n a bit outnumbered.'

'Maybe,' Kipchak said. 'Maybe not. Gimme that SSW.'

The two were crouched in a shop door, catty-corner from the big building
that held half a hundred 'Raum. The rest of Alpha Team held positions up
and  down the  street. Penwyth  licked his  lips, ducked  into the  next
store, and came  back with the  squad weapon, trying  to ignore the  two
dead I&R men beside it and the bolts exploding around him.

'Find something to sandbag me,' Kipchak ordered, and Erik puzzled, found
a flatiron and four sacks of washers, piled them for Kipchak to rest the
forehand of the Squad Support Weapon on.

'See that little bitty window?' Kipchak asked.

'Hell yes. They shot at me out of that.'

'Spot me.'

'Huh?' Erik said.

'I said spot me, dammit! Like on the range.'

'Oh. 'Kay.'

Kipchak fired a single shot.

'Uh... high. Left.'

Kipchak tsked, moved his sights a little, fired again.

'High. Center.'

Another round went out.

'I didn't  see it.  I think  a hit.  Yeh. You  put it  in the window all
right!'

'Nail this bastard down.' The weights went around the bipod legs of  the
Squad  Support  Weapon.  'Now  lemme  show  you  something,'  Petr said.
'They're all nice and bulletproof outside, right?'

'Right.'

Petr braced the butt of the SSW, let twenty bolts slam through the  tiny
window, paused, then another twenty, then another pause and the rest  of
the belt. 'More ammo,' he ordered, but the door to the bank, if that was
what  it  was,  came  open,  and  bleeding  'Raum,  waving  white  rags,
handkerchiefs, even  pieces of  paper, came  stumbling out. 'Bulletproof
outside  means  bulletproof  inside,'  Kipchak  said  in   satisfaction.
'Bouncing bolts bedazzle and baffle bandits.'


No one except a  couple of radar techs  noticed the luxury lifter  as it
climbed high into the sky, Leggett no more than a dot below.


Griersons dropped into the Eckmuhl, and troops trotted off. I&R men were
waiting to escort them.                    ';

'Just follow me,' a  grimy soldier told a  group of officers. 'I'll  put
your men where they're supposed to be.'

The haut in charge looked suspiciously at the man, who wore no insignia.
'Follow you? Might I ask your rank?'

'Cent Radcliffe's my name,' Striker Penwyth said. 'And I've got personal
authorization from Mil Rao.'

'Oh. Then  I guess  everything's all  right. Come  on, troops,' the haut
said.


Njangu came to his feet, surprised, as Garvin walked out of the hospital
entrance. He wore oversize fatigues,  and one shoulder was lumpier  than
the other.

'What ho,'  he said.  'I thought  you'd be  flat on  your ass in a ward,
trying  to play  giggle and  pinch with  the nurses  and feebly   taking
visitors.'

'That's what they wanted to do  to me,' Garvin said. 'I didn't  like the
idea.'

'Why not? Some nice  days off after the  shit we've been through.  Float
back, relax, and get some ghost time.'

'Uh-uh. I'm going back over, as soon as I can scrounge a combat vest and
a blaster.'

'You're what?'

'I promised I was going to  kill Tver... his real name's Brooks,  by the
way... if I got a chance. So I'm making the chance.'

'Aw shit, Garvin. I barely had time to take a shower and you want to  go
jump back in the shitter. You getting medal-happy or something?'

'Nobody said you had to go.'

'Not much they didn't.' Njangu growled. 'All right. Let's scout up  some
bangsticks. You got any ideas how we're gonna find our boy?'

'Yeah. But I'm not telling you 'til we're on the ground. You might  jump
the line and kill him first.'


'Is the fuse set, my brother?'

'It is.'

The  pilot of  the luxury  lifter bowed  his head,  and his  lips  moved
silently. 'Then we go,  and may the One  bless our Task.' He  pushed the
control wheel  forward, and  the lifter  nosed over.  It dived  down and
down, starting  to shudder,  and the  lifter's computer  pushed out dive
brakes and the shuddering went away.

The driver tried  not to look  at his friend  next to him,  tried not to
look out at the blue of the bay and the white stone, now  smoke-covered,
of the Eckmuhl, whose every alley  he knew and loved. All that  existed,
all that should exist, was the swelling mass of the fortress below.


The sentries at the gates of the Planetary Government's headquarters had
a bare moment to react to the  sonic boom, look up, and see the  blurred
black lifter  as it  dived almost  straight down,  into the main PlanGov
building, centering  on the  mosaiced stained-glass  dome over  the main
conference  room,  where   most  ofD-Cumbre's  governing   element  were
concluding a daylong meeting.

In the explosion died Planetary  Governor Wilth Haemer, and most  of his
staff; about half of the  Rentiers on the Council, including  Bampur and
Loy Kouro's father, publisher of Matin;

Godrevy  Mellusin,  Jasith's  father;  Police  Major  Gothian,  head  of
Planetary  Police's  Policy  and  Analysis  Division;  and  Caud  Jochim
Williams, along with his aides  and heads of II Section  (Intelligence),
III Section (Operations) and V Section (Civil Coordination).


Jord'n  Brooks watched  the holo  of central  Leggett, the  cauldron  of
destruction where Planetary Government had been for a brief moment, then
slung his blaster, started out of the snack bar.

'There have been enough words,' he  said, 'Now is the Time. Our  time to
kill them all.' He smiled.



CHAPTER 35

The  'Raum boiled  out of  the Eckmuhl.  Some were  disciplined  assault
forces on their assigned Tasks. Others were looking for revenge or loot.

About two  hundred trained  warriors attacked  the ruins  of the PlanGov
fortress,  with orders  to leave  no officials  alive, and  destroy  all
PlanGov records, from  police files to  mining deeds to  land documents.
The firefighters and medics swarming  around the capitol didn't see  the
formation trotting up the winding avenue, but one man did.

Finf Running  Bear, Caud  Williams' driver/orderly,  was crumpled inside
his  Cooke.  The explosion  had  sent the  vehicle  tumbling across  the
avenue, flattening Running Bear on the floorboards, as he tried to  keep
from being thrown out and crushed.  The Cooke came to rest halfway  up a
grassy bank,  windscreen shattered.  Stunned and  bruised. Running  Bear
half sat, opened  an eye, saw  armed men and  women running toward  him,
perhaps two hundred  meters away. He  vaguely identified them  as 'Raum,
and wondered why  they were attacking  him. He looked  for Caud Williams
for orders, saw no one.

He  undipped the  autocannon from  its travel  lock, swung  it up   into
position. He opened a box of ammunition, fed the belt of dully  gleaming
shells into the  breech, ratcheted the  operating handle twice,  as he'd
been trained so long ago, chambering the first 20mm round. Running  Bear
turned the range-finding sight on, hit the RANGE sensor as the  oncoming
'Raum closed, and touched the trigger between the twin handles. The  gun
chattered, and he swung it  across the formation. The hand-long  shells,
intended  to penetrate  light armor,  sliced through  the crowd.  Bodies
spun, shattered, and blood sprayed.

Running Bear heard  blaster bolts explode  around him, paid  no mind. He
swept the 'Raum  again, and again.  Something- an almost-spent  bolt-cut
his side,  and he  saw blood,  but he  had no  time for that. 'Raum were
falling back, some  running, others, braver  or more disciplined,  found
firing positions behind  debris or in  the open. Running  Bear corrected
his aim, and in two- or three-round bursts, killed them as well.

The gun stopped firing, and Running Bear realized the  two-hundred-round
ammunition box was empty. Moving carefully, slowly, he took another  box
from the rear  of the Cooke,  opened it, and  fed another belt  into the
cannon.  Something was  running in  his eyes,  and he  wiped his  sleeve
across them, saw  blood, but felt  no pain. He  saw a group  of 'Raum on
their feet, about to charge, cut  them down, swung his aim to  the other
side of the road, blasted  three 'Raum who thought an  overturned lifter
would be adequate cover.

The dullness was  fading, as if  he were waking,  and he felt  the slash
across his scalp, the wound in  his side, another one he hadn't  noticed
on his upper arm, but they didn't matter. He shouted, a long,  ululating
cry no one on D-Cumbre would have known, but might have been familiar to
warriors a millennium earlier, on battlegrounds around Fort Phil Keamey,
on the banks of the Rosebud River, at a place called Little Bighorn.

Again the gun clanked empty, and  again he reloaded. He was aware  there
were  other soldiers  behind him,  and he  heard their  guns firing.  He
looked for  more 'Raum  to kill,  saw none.  There were  a few  of them,
running hard.  far down  the avenue,  then they,  too, were  gone, their
attack shattered before  it began. The  street was carpeted  with broken
bodies, and the wounded groaned, screamed.

Finf Running Bear  got out of  the Cooke. Someone  came up, but  Running
Bear looked at him, and he stood away. He did not need, would not allow,
anyone to help him. Proudly, slowly, he walked up the avenue, to where a
Grierson with a bright red cross waited.


Loy Kouro stared blankly out of the screen at Mil Rao. 'My father...' he
said brokenly.

'Was killed with Governor Haemer,' Mil Rao said patiently. 'As was  Caud
Williams and most of the other officials of the Planetary Government.  I
have  assumed  command  of  the  Strike  Force,  in  the  name  of   the
Confederation, and have temporarily taken charge of Cumbre's government.
I  want  my  proclamation  broadcast   by  Matin...  you  are  now   its
publisher... and the other holos immediately.'

'Yes,' Kouro said. 'That is good. My father would approve. Yes. I can do
that.'

Mil Rao broke contact, turned to Cent Angara. 'Damfino if he understood.
He's shocky.'

'A lot of people are,' Angara agreed. 'Now, sir. What are your orders?'

Rao drew a deep breath, walked away from the knot of Command and Control
Griersons backed up to each other just outside the Eckmuhl's main gates,
ramps lowered.

'All right. I'm thinking out loud. Tell me when I miss something. First,
is it legal for me to continue martial law without dealing with  whoever
survives from PlanGov?'

'I think so,' Angara said. 'But there's surely no one who'll argue.  Not
now.'

'That's done, then.  I'm bringing you  up as Force  XO. Put whatsisface,
Hedley, in charge of II Section. Operations... I'll control that myself,
appoint someone else when the smoke clears. Civil Coordination...  we'll
find somebody to  give excuses and  press conferences later,  when we're
through killing them.' He spotted Hedley coming toward the command group
with two soldiers. 'Alt Hedley! Over here!' The three hurried over,  and
Rao told the alt of his promotion. 'You'll be a cent, maybe a haul, I'll
figure out what your rank should be later.'

'Yessir.'

'Who're these two?'

'Our agents  inside the  Eckmuhl. We  just extracted  them. Fin/Jaansma,
Striker Yoshitaro.'

'Oh.  Right.  Well-done.  You're  both  kicked  up  to  dec,   effective
immediately.' Rao put them out of his mind. 'Now, let me collect myself.
First thing, we'll withdraw First  Regiment from the Eckmuhl. The  'Raum
have broken out into Leggett in  two places already. We'll have to  pull
back to Camp Mahan, regroup, and-'

'Sir! We can't do that!'

Rao stopped cold, stared at Garvin. 'I beg your pardon, Dec'

'I said, sir, begging your pardon, sir, we can't do that,' Jaansma  went
on. Hedley, behind Rao, was motioning for him to shut the flipping  hell
up if he knew  what was healthy, and  Njangu was trying to  look like he
was somewhere else. 'Sir, we spent time around that 'Raum named  Brooks.
He's the leader... or anyway as much of a leader as they have... of  The
Movement.'

'I don't have time for this, soldier.'

'I'm  sorry, sir,  but this  is important.  Sir, Striker,  I mean   Dec,
Yoshitaro knows a great deal about the man. Don't you, Njangu? He  knows
what he'll do next.'

'I'm listening,' Rao said, in a dangerously cold voice. 'I hope I'm  not
listening to the two shortest-lived decs in the history of the Force.'

Njangu gave a hard look at Garvin, but they were for it now. 'Yes,  sir.
His intelligence chief, a woman named Poynton, told me a lot. The way he
handles a problem  is to hit  it hard. He  leads from the  front. But if
something  happens,  if  it  doesn't  go  right,  he'll  break   contact
immediately. He thinks The Movement is more important than anything, and
it must be preserved. If he loses today, there's got to be fighters  for
tomorrow or next year.  Poynton told me he  was the one who  ordered the
'Raum out of the jungles into  the cities, where it was easier  to fight
and hide.'

'So what should I  do?' Rao's voice was  a little less cold.  Hedley was
suddenly very glad that Williams  was gone, for he couldn't  picture the
late caud doing anything in  this situation beyond ordering up  a firing
squad.

'Hit them where they're breaking out of the Eckmuhl, sir,' Garvin  said.
'Hard enough so that you cannot  just stop them, but wipe them  out. Hit
them hard enough, and you'll  have Brooks, and maybe that'll  break them
for good. If  the attack breaks,  hit the stragglers,  and that'll maybe
finish this.'

Rao nodded. 'Thank you. Dec. Now, if you and your mate'll excuse us...'

Garvin saluted, and he and Njangu hastily backed away.

'Nice going,' Njangu muttered. 'Bigmouth.'

'You wanted a chance to kill the bastard,' Garvin said. 'If we pull out,
he'll go back into  the frigging woodwork, and  we'll have to start  all
over again going up and down those goddamned hills.'

'Maybe you're right. So now what?'

'So now we go get Dill,' Garvin said firmly, 'then look up Petr, and  go
hunting.'

'Oh joy,' Njangu said. 'Nothing like  a nice, private little war in  the
middle of all this nutsiness.'


Mil Rao looked at  the two rankers as  they hurried away. 'He  made some
sense. But we're spread very thin.'

'Not necessarily,' Angara said. 'Second Regiment's in reserve. Dump them
with First into the Eckmuhl.  Get all those independent companies  back,
and that'll give you Fourth Regiment as reserve.'

'What about the other cities? The 'Raum are hitting all over D-Cumbre...
and the mining companies' police on C-Cumbre are about to break.'

'If we lose Leggett,' Angara said, 'nothing else matters.'

'You're right,' Rao  said. 'And I've  got to stop  thinking like... like
the way things were done before. You didn't mention Third Regiment.'

'Third'll be the bastard,' Angara said. 'Grab all the MPs from the whole
goddamned Force,  and put  them in  the streets  with PAs  going, saying
anybody... and this means anybody... who's on the streets and armed is a
dead pigeon.  Then dump  in Third  Regiment and  make it  so. Hammer the
'Raum back into  the Eckmuhl, and  kill any vigilantes  the Rentiers put
in, as well as any private looters.'

'We'll have some innocent dead out of that.'

'When it's all over, we'll make reparations and apologies, which is easy
when  nobody's shooting.  Just like  we're going  to have  to make  sure
somebody changes the way this goddamned planet's run, unless we want Son
of The Movement coming back in five or ten years.'

Rao thought  for a  moment. 'You  know,' he  said, 'when  you read about
great battles and things, there always  seems to be a single point  that
everything devolves from.  Is this one  of them? If  it is, damned  if I
don't feel uncomfortable, having figured out a long time ago I don't fit
into a star marshal's boots.'

'I don't know, sir,' Angara said honestly. 'But what do we have to lose?
We're cut off  from the Confederation,  the Musth are  probably going to
want our ass for breakfast  after what happened to their  mining center,
and sooner or later Redruth's going  to show up again. I'd just  as soon
not have to worry about our backs when everybody else comes a-knocking.'

Raum nodded grimly. 'Like you said, what do we have to lose?'


The 'Raum attack  in Leggett was  three-pronged. The first,  against the
ruins  of  PlanGov,  had  been  broken  by  Running  Bear.  The  second,
deliberately planned to be as much a riot as an assault, was against the
city center, intended to do  as much damage as possible,  demoralize the
citizens of Leggett, and mask the other two assaults.

The third  was against  the traditional  enemies of  the 'Raum, striking
southwest toward the Rentiers' district, the Heights.


Dec Nectan, Alpha Team Leader, ducked back as a rocket exploded  against
the huge tree  he was sheltering  behind. It creaked,  groaned, but held
steady. He leaned out, snapped a shot back that he secretly knew missed,
and  looked  down the  line  of soldiers.  Some  were his,  others  were
infantry from line units that'd somehow joined up with his troop of I&R.
Aspirant Vauxhall wriggled toward him,  covered up as a bolt  blew dust,
then was safe.

'We're surely pinned,' Nectan said.

'What's your plan?'

'Wait 'em out,' Nectan said.

'That's NG,' Vauxhall said. 'For all we know, they're holding us with  a
blocking  force,  and the  rest  of the  bastards  have cut  around  our
flanks.'

'Okay, boss,' Nectan said. 'Your turn in the barrel.'

'Let's try  to shock  them out,'  Vauxhall said.  'I'll grab  one of the
Cookes and make a strafing run. You get the troops up, and hit 'em  hard
as soon as I'm clear.'

'I dunno,' Nectan said. 'You'll be wide-open if they've got AA.'

'Aw, shit,' Vauxhall said. 'You ever know a 'Raum who could shoot?'

Nectan thought of answering-damned right he did, and he'd buried the men
and women who didn't believe it, but said nothing.

'Give me five  minutes,' Vauxhall said.  He squirmed away.  Nectan shook
his head and darted from tree to tree, giving orders.

Five minutes ticked past. Nectan heard  the whine of a turbine over  the
clash of fighting. 'Get ready!' he shouted, and a battered Cooke  banked
around  a comer,  flying below  the rooftops.  He didn't  recognize  the
pilot, but saw Vauxhall strapped  behind the cannon. The cannon  blasted
holes in the storefronts, sent dust cascading.

'Come on! Up and into 'em,' Nectan shouted. He didn't see the flash, but
heard the blast as a rocket  smashed into the cockpit of the  Cooke, and
the  lifter  exploded. 'Let's  go!  Go!' he  shouted,  and the  line  of
infantrymen was moving forward, ragged,  but moving, from a walk  into a
trot and their blasters were firing steadily.


'The goddamned 'Raum are cutting us to ribbons in that frigging ghetto,'
Cent Rivers said. 'We need reinforcements.'

'We  don't have  any to  give you,'  Rao said  evenly. 'The  independent
companies are trickling back slow...  the 'Raum are keeping them  busier
in the tules than we'd allowed for. What you have is what you've got.'

Rivers nodded jerkily and trotted toward her Grierson.

'The issue,' Rao said very softly to Angara, 'remains in doubt.'


Lir  chattered a  long burst  from her  SSW into  the luxury  department
store, saw flames lick up, embrace the knot of looters inside. 'This  is
like stomping mice.'

'Careful, Monique,'  Senior Tweg  Gonzales warned.  'Thinking like  that
gets you killed.'

'I'm not getting sloppy.'

'Better not,' he said.  'How do you think  I've made it through  as many
wars as I have?'

Lir was  about to  answer when  she saw,  out of  the comer  of her eye,
something flying toward them. 'Grenade!' She went flat. The grenade hit,
bounced, landed next to Gonzales and three other I&R men.

Through the din,  Lir heard the  tiny whine of  its fuse, then  Gonzales
said, in  a mildly  angry voice,  'Oh shit,'  and rolled  on top  of the
grenade. It went off with a muffled thud, and his body bounced with  the
shock.

'Goddammit to hell,' Lir said, and the soldier next to her swore she had
tears in her eyes for a minute.

'Come  on,  you  assholes,'  she  shouted.  'Kill  me  some  goblins for
Gonzales!' Her voice was very sure, very certain.


There were  'Raum who  died well.  One was  the young  woman Limnea. Her
group was hit by a roving  patrol from Second Regiment, her Task  leader
killed almost immediately. The' Raum hesitated, almost broke, but Limnea
shouted them into cover, made them shoot back.

The Forcemen attacked, and she ordered the group to retreat to a central
intersection.  They occupied  the waist-high  concrete traffic  warden's
post, and let the soldiers attack  them. The Force came in three  times,
was driven back three times. Each time, though, the volume of fire  from
the 'Raum was less and less.

A Forceman clambered to the  third story of an overlooking  building and
sent a  handheld rocket  smashing into  the warden's  circle. The  dirty
smoke cleared, and there was silence.     3

Three Forcemen zigged forward, chanced peering over the edge. One  threw
up, seeing  the butcher's  bill inside.  The other  two, more  hardened,
checked to make sure all the 'Raum were dead.

'Look at this  one,' one soldier  said. 'Prettier'n hell,  if she wasn't
missing most of her guts. Wonder what made her get into this nonsense?'

Limnea's eyes opened.

'Shit, she's alive!'

The soldier  bent over  her, and  Limnea spat  a stream  of blood in his
face, twisted, and was dead.


'What are your suggestions, Cent Radcliffe?' the officer asked.

'Why, no suggestions 'tall,' Penwyth  drawled, trying to sound like  one
of the elite leaders he'd seen in holos. 'There's simply nothin' else to
do but attack.'

'Attack. Yes, that's it. Of  course. Brilliant,' the haut said,  turning
to give his staff orders.


The seafront central avenue was a brawling mass of 'Raum and poor people
from other  quarters. The  MP lifters  had gone  overhead twice, warning
them to clear the  streets, and had been  hooted at. One Cooke  had been
shot down by  a team of  'Raum, and the  military policemen aboard  torn
apart.

One woman smashed a storefront, pulled a liter of wine out, snapped  the
top, and drank heartily, then spat. 'Sour, dam-mit! Goddamned rich don't
drink  right,'  and reached  for  another, more  promising  bottle, then
stopped, hearing a strange high whine. She saw heavy lifters,  flattened
cylinders, bristling with  turrets and missile  launchers swoop in  from
the sea, and glide slowly in pairs up the avenue, about ten meters above
the ground. Zhukovs, led by Griersons.

The woman screamed, ran up  an alley, escaped. Others weren't  as lucky.
The first salvos were irritant  gas. then live rounds sprayed  carefully
high. But there were still people in the streets, some shooting back.

'Open fire,' the cent in charge of the flight ordered, and cannon roared
and echoed in the heart of the city.


'Your Task has been changed,'  Brooks told the grimy 'Raum  cell leader.
'Instead of attacking the University, I have a far better goal for  you.
The Force has set its field headquarters up just beyond our walls.  That
is the last vestige of government the Rentiers have. Wipe that out,  and
the enemy will  fall apart, because  they've never learned  to think for
themselves.'

Poynton said nothing. The cell  leader nodded jerkily. 'Good,' he  said.
'But we have taken casualties.'

'I can see that,' Brooks said. 'I shall accompany you on the attack, and
any 'Raum we encounter will join us. Come. We must hurry, for victory is
just within our grasp. We must not falter.'

As the column re-formed. Brooks waved his com operators away and dropped
back beside Poynton. 'If  we fail, and I  do not believe we  shall, your
orders are to break contact, gather any senior operatives you find,  and
reassemble in the forest to continue the struggle.'

Poynton covered her reaction. 'If  those are your orders, sir...  but if
we are failing, I'd rather stand with my sisters and brothers.'

'No!' Brooks snapped. 'The Movement must live.'

'Very well,' Poynton said rebelliously.  'But where in the jungle  do we
meet?'

'In the one place they would never look for us,' Brooks said. 'The  cave
we used before. Then  we'll relocate to an  even safer place I  was told
about, on Mullion Island, and rebuild there.'


'Still nothing?' Garvin asked.

'Lots of fighting,' Ben Dill said. 'Nothing that looks that impressive.'

Njangu looked back over his shoulder into the troop compartment, at Petr
Kipchak, the rest of Gamma Team, and other I&R troops who'd wanted in on
the blood.  'Not good,  m'boy,' Kipchak  said. 'Maybe  you better set us
down near some goblins and let us get some action, even if it's not what
you want.'

'Trying one,' Kang said into  the intercom. 'This Brooks you  want... is
he a proper  commander, or does  he use runners  and carrier birds  like
barbarians did?'

'Of course not,' Garvin said.

'Well, I just happen to be  monitoring some 'casts, coming on three  and
four  frequencies, not  on any  Force lengths.  They're not  coded,  but
they're real cryptic. I put a locator on them. They're coming from  just
inside the Eckmuhl's walls down  there, moving toward one of  the exits.
Damn near blanketed  by the 'casts  from Force HQ,  which is right  over
there.'

Njangu hesitated, looked at  Petr. He had a  bit of a smile,  and nodded
once. 'Garvin,' Yoshitaro said, 'I think maybe we've found our fight.'

'Or anyway one worth worrying about,' Petr added.

'Put us right in the middle of that, Ben.'

'Sure,' Dill said. 'I'm easy. Take her down, Stanislaus.'

The Grierson dived toward the Eckmuhl.

*   *   *

There were  about fifty  men and  women in  Brooks' group,  most of them
experienced  fighters,  moving  quickly along  the  inner  curve of  the
Eckmuhl's caverned wall. They'd seen no sign of Force soldiers, although
the sounds of fighting were all around.

Poynton allowed herself a  bit of hope-the gate  was no more than  three
hundred meters distant, very close, if Brooks was right, to the  Force's
command post. Maybe  there was a  chance, if they  killed enough of  the
officers, maybe the Rentiers would panic, and surrender. Certainly  they
wouldn't  have  the  guts  to  fight  for  themselves,  and  with  their
mercenaries dead-

Her thoughts broke as someone screamed, and she saw the fat pencil of  a
Grierson. She went to her knee, unslung her blaster, and the ACV's  guns
opened up, and  a missile exploded  nearby, sending her  spinning into a
wall, cannon bursts exploding nearby. The Grierson slammed down, and its
rear ramp dropped, and soldiers spewed out.

The 'Raum found cover, started shooting, and fire ravened back from  the
Grierson's guns  and the  SSWs of  the I&R  soldiers. A grenade launcher
thunked, and the  grenade landed next  to one of  Brooks' commo men.  He
panicked, kicked it away, and the grenade exploded, and killed all three
com men.

Brooks was  kneeling, shooting  at the  Forcemen, saw  his brothers  and
sisters  dying, fired  again, saw  a soldier  drop, realized  they  were
almost overwhelmed and ran, crouching, through a doorway into the wall's
tunnels.

Garvin went after him.

'You idiot,' Petr shouted, and followed.

A burst of  fire came from  nowhere, sending Petr  spinning, against the
wall. He slid slowly down it, looking at the smear beside him,  realized
it was his own blood. A tiny knife came into his hand from nowhere, then
his fingers opened, it dropped onto the cobbles, and he died.

Njangu  leapt  over his  corpse,  shot sideways  at  whoever had  killed
Kipchak, was in the doorway and in sudden silence. Explosions came dimly
from outside, but they weren't part of his world.

There was a winding corridor, and steps led upward. He saw legs,  almost
shot, recognized them as uniformed. Garvin.

Brooks wouldn't have gone  up, Njangu decided-Garvin  was full of  hooey
and started along the corridor. A shot seared past, and Brooks came from
nowhere, blaster raised  to club him  down. Yoshitaro twisted  sideways,
took the  blow on  his right  shoulder, yelped,  and his fingers opened,
dropping his pistol.

Brooks was hard on him, trying to push him back so he could get room  to
level  his  blaster, and  Njangu  snapped a  knee  up. Brooks  screamed,
staggered back, and Njangu  kicked the gun out  of his hands. Before  he
could recover. Brooks  was on him,  strong miner's muscles  knocking him
back, and a fist  thudded into his gut.  Njangu fought for air.  Brooks'
fingers were trying for a  stranglehold, but Njangu had his  chin buried
in his chest. Brooks' hands clawed up his face for his eyes.

Njangu's free hand moved smoothly along his belt, found the snap of  the
sheath he'd  worn on  that faraway  parade field.  The blade  was in his
hand, and he drove it  into Brooks' side. Brooks screamed,  pulled away,
the knife still hanging from him, stumbled to his feet, and Garvin  shot
him three times, very fast, in the chest.

Brooks pirouetted as  if he were  on a turntable,  hands reaching toward
the unseen sky, and he crumpled.

'Not that I needed  any help,' Njangu said,  through a throat that  felt
like it'd  been sanded,  as he  used the  wall to  push himself up, 'but
thanks.'

'No help?' Garvin  said indignantly. 'He  would've taken that  knife out
and shoved it right up your ass if it weren't for me.'

'Shee-yit,' Njangu managed, and stumbled toward the door.

He came out into sunlight and the scattered dead of Brooks' attack team,
but it didn't  matter. Njangu looked  down at Kip-chak's  face, tried to
find some last expression-hate, peace, anger-but there was nothing.

'Hey,' somebody shouted. 'I got a live one.'

The soldier lifted her blaster.

'No!' Njangu shouted. 'We need a prisoner.'

The  soldier reluctantly  lowered her  weapon, and  Njangu picked  up  a
blaster from a corpse, limped over, looked at Poynton.

She stared up. 'Kill me now,' she said.

'Are you wounded?'

She shook her head. 'The blast.'

'Get up, then,' he said.

She obeyed, wincing as she moved.

'In front of me,' Njangu ordered. 'Back to the Grierson.'

'Are you afraid to shoot me in front of your brothers and sisters?'  she
taunted.

'Lady, right now I'm too tired to be afraid of anything. Now move!'

He escorted her back of the  ACV, then motioned her into an  alley. Face
pale, eyes fixed on his, she obeyed. 'Go ahead,' she said. 'I'm ready.'

'Jo,' Njangu said. 'Get the hell out of here.'

'Shot while attempting to escape? I'd rather die where I stand.'

'I said, get your pretty ass the hell out of here, dammit! And don't you
ever, ever, ever get involved in this kind of shit again.'

Jo Poynton stared, then backed away. When she was about ten meters  from
him, she spun and ran hard, disappearing around a corner.

Njangu turned, saw Garvin standing there, pistol dangling from his hand.
'Now why'd you want to do something like that?'

Njangu shrugged. 'Seemed like a good idea at the time.'



CHAPTER 36

Two weeks after Brooks' death, CaudPiak&sh Rao was commed by Aesc of the
Musth. Behind him was Wiencing. 'We are departing your sssystem.'

'I'm listening.'

'We are returning to our own worldsss,' the Musth said. 'You were warned
once before asss to  what might transsspire if  any Musssth died. Now  I
mussst have consssultations with my leadersss. I do not plan to advissse
them to continue this foolissshcourssseofpeaccce.'

Wiencing stepped forward. 'When next we meet,' he said, 'it ssshall most
likely be with unsssheathed talonsss. It ssshall not be with engineersss
and  minersss  we  return  with,  but  war-riorsss.  Then  ssshall  come
interesssting timesss.'



CHAPTER 37

Alt Garvin Jaansma, resplendent in dark blue dress uniform, a row of new
medals on his breast, paid off the lifter.

'You want me to wait?'

'No,' Garvin said, and went up the steps of the mansion. The columns  on
either side  of the  entrance had  wide black  ribbon tied  to them, and
there was  a black  wreath on  the door.  Jaansma grimaced,  touched the
bell. He heard the hum, saw  a spyeye turn. Nothing happened for  a long
time, and he was about to ring again, when the door opened, a big,  well
dressed man, with a bit of a shoulder rig showing, stood there.

'Yes, sir?'

'I'm Garvin Jaansma. I'm a friend of Jasith's. Is she at home?'

'She is,' the bodyguard said, unfolding a bit of paper. 'And she told me
what to say, exactly.' He read from the paper:

''Please go away, Garvin, and don't try to see me anymore. I'm going  to
be busy, taking  over my father's  company. If I  see you, I'll  just be
reminded of what  happened, and how  you, and the  others in the  Force,
couldn't keep my father from getting killed.'

Garvin blinked. 'That doesn't make any sense.'

'A Mellusin doesn't have to make sense,' the bodyguard said gently.

'I guess there's no  way... nothing I could  say that'd let me  actually
see her? Maybe if I could  talk to her, she wouldn't...' Garvin's  voice
trailed off.

The bodyguard  shook his  head. 'Sorry,  Alt. But  that's the way things
are.'

Garvin started back down the steps. He heard the door close behind him.

He looked down  the long, winding  street toward Leggett.  'Guess dreams
don't usually work out,' he said quietly, and walked away.



CHAPTER 38

'So it's over?' Garvin tipped the bottle up, found it was empty,  tossed
it over the railing of the Bachelor Officers' Quarters. He scrabbled  in
the ice chest for another one,  puzzled a bit drunk-enly at its  cap. He
drew his combat  knife out, reversed  the blade, and  snapped it against
the neck of the bottle. The  bottle's neck broke off cleanly. He  drank,
passed the bottle to Njangu.

Yoshitaro drank twice. 'I think you were one ahead of me,' he explained.
'Yeh. I guess it's over. Assuming CaudRao makes sure there are  straight
elections, and the  Rentiers get told  to shut up  and just make  money.
Good luck on that one, and  on the goddamned 'Raum who're left  suddenly
becoming society's  darlings. Sure,  this is  gonna be  the best  of all
possible worlds.'

Garvin thought ofJasith, swallowed hard, and took the bottle back. 'This
isn't the  way it  is in  the holos  when you  win a war,' he complained
after drinking.

'Nope,' Njangu said. 'Things got a little expensive. Williams, Vauxhall,
Gonzales...'

'HankFaull.'

'Petr.'

'Yeh. And Petr.' Njangu tried to keep bitterness out of his voice.  'But
everybody's got medals, and you and I are officers, even if you  somehow
wangled it so I' m just a stupid aspirant.'

'Careful,  young   soldier,'  Garvin   said,  trying   to  be  cheerful.
'Promotions  come  to  he  or  she  who  serves  well.  You  know   they
commissioned Penwyth, too. It was  either that or court-martial him  for
impersonating an officer.'

'And we've got the I&R Company all for our very own.'

'Which isn't going to be  run business-as-usual,' Garvin said. 'I  had a
long sit-down  with Jon  and Angara  today, and  we're gonna reorganize.
Liskeard's gonna go over to  a Regiment, and Angara's gonna  fold Mobile
Scout into I&R, so we'll have  Griersons with maybe a couple of  Zhukovs
for instant  backup. No  more frigging  Cookes. Ben  Dill's going  to be
commissioned and  take over  that end  of things.  Monique takes over as
First Tweg, no matter how much she pisses and moans. I tried to get  her
to take that commission  they waved in front  of her, and I  thought she
was gonna smack me.

'The way  things'll be  is you  and me  work as  a team,  you being  the
supposed brains, me sounding like I know what the hell I'm talking about
with the  crunchies, Dill  gets us  into the  fighting, and  all's as it
should be.'

'So the good are rewarded,' Njangu said.

'Supposedly.'

'How come I don't feel any better?'

'You  aren't drinking  enough.' Garvin  handed him  the bottle.  'Life's
gonna get  interesting, when  those goddamned  Musth come  back. Or when
Redruth gets the hots for our young asses.'

'I'll worry about that shit when it happens,' Njangu said.

They drank in silence for a time.

'You remember,' Njangu said, 'way the hell back when we were hauling ass
from  the  Malvern,  and  Petr  was  showing  off  all  the  stuff  he'd
memorized?'

'Yen?'

'He had a  poem. Can't remember  much of it,  but there were  lines that
went something like 'those  I fight, I do  not hate, those I  guard I do
not love.'

'Petr's epitaph?'

'Or ours,' Njangu said.

'What a shitty way to make a living,' he said, after a space.

Garvin grunted agreement, retrieved the bottle.

'Pity it's the only game in town.'



APPENDIX

The Cumbre  system has  a medium  main sequence  sun, about  1.5 million
kilometers in diameter.

There are thirteen planets in the system, named, rather unimaginatively,
after the letters of the alphabet. A- and B-Cumbre are too close to  the
sun to be habitable, with  limited atmospheres, and have only  solar and
astronomical observation stations.

Mineral-rich C-Cumbre is  the reason for  both Man and  Musth colonizing
the system. Its riches  include manganese, tungsten, vanadium,  niobium,
titanium, godarium, natural gamma iron, and some precious metals.

Mines, worked by both races, stud the arid landscape. It's uncomfortable
for both  races, more  for the  Musth than  Man. It  has a  single moon,
Balar.

E-Cumbre is chill,  just habitable for  Man, comfortable for  Musth, who
know it as Silitric, and consider it the center of the system.

F-, H- and I-Cumbre are ice giants.

G-Cumbre is a half-destroyed  world from an out-of-system  asteroid, and
moonlets litter its orbit.

J-  and  K-Cumbre  are  small  planetoids  and  have  small  observation
stations.

L-  and  M-Cumbre are  little  larger than  J-  and K-,  and  are almost
certainly trapped asteroids, with extremely irregular orbits.

D-Cumbre is-mostly-Man's world. It has three small moons: Fowey, Bodwin,
and Penwith.  Only the  largest and  nearest, Fowey,  affects D-Cumbre's
tides.

D-Cumbre  is  about  thirteen thousand  kilometers  in  diameter at  the
equator, and its axial tilt  is fourteen degrees, producing a  more even
climate than Earth's. Unlike Earth, there are no continental masses, but
many, many islands, mostly in the temperate and tropical belt,  although
two significant  landmasses are  at the  poles. Some  of the islands are
large and of volcanic origin.  Their peaks have been worn  into plateaus
with  an entirely  different climate  than the  lowlands-still wet,  but
chill  and  mist-hung,  with  the  vegetation  fernlike,  from  tiny  to
enormous. The Musth make their headquarters on the largest of these, the
Highlands on Dharma Island.

Man  settled at  sea-level, mostly  in the  tropics, with  his  capital,
Leggett, on the northwestern portion of Dharma and three smaller islets.
There are  two dozen  smaller cities,  some not  more than  villages, on
other islands in the temperate or tropical zones.

The climate is balmy, and  there are few weather hazards,  although open
seas away from the island masses produce enormous globe-circling  waves,
and the stormy season can be uncomfortable.

The environment  must be  considered benign,  although there  are  still
unclassified predators in the jungles and several species of fish,  from
large sea serpents to marine  carnivores to coelen-terates that must  be
considered hazardous to life.