and tiny paper cups. I brought her two and held them to her lips.
"No painkillers until we land, I'm afraid." I could knock her out with another trank, but that would complicate her medical situation. "Where do you hurt?"
"Chest. Chest and neck. Could you take this damned tape off? I'm not going anywhere."
I cleared it with Command and a foot-long razor-keen bayonet snicked into my hand. She shrank away, as much as her bonds would allow. "Just a knife." I cut the tape around her chest and knees and helped her to a sitting position. I queried the flyboy and she confirmed that the woman was apparently unarmed, so I freed her hands and feet.
"May I use that toilet?"
"Sure." When she stood up she doubled over in pain, clutching her side.
"Here." I couldn't stand upright in the seven-foot-high cargo area, either, so we shuffled aft, a bent-over giant helping a bent-over dwarf. I helped her with her belt and trousers.
"Please," she said. "Be a gentleman."
I turned my back on her but of course could still see her. "I can't be a gentleman," I said. "I'm five women and five men, working together."
"So that's true? You make women fight?"
"You don't fight, Senora?"
"I protect my land and my people." If I hadn't been looking at her I would have misinterpreted the strong emotion in her voice. I saw her hand flick into a breast pocket and caught her wrist just before her hand made it to her mouth.
I forced her fingers open and took a small white pill. It had an odor of bitter almonds, low-tech.
"That wouldn't do any good," I said. "We'd just revive you and you'd be sick."
"You kill people and, when it pleases you, you bring them back from the dead. But you are not monsters."
I put the pill in a pocket on my leg and watched her carefully. "If we were monsters we would bring them back to life, extract our information, and kill them again."
"You don't do that."
"We have more than eight thousand of your people in prison, awaiting repatriation after the war. It would be easier to kill them, wouldn't it?"
"Concentration camps." She stood and pulled up her trousers, and sat back down.
"A loaded term. There are camps where the Costa Rican prisoners of war are concentrated. With UN and Red Cross observers, making sure they're not mistreated. As you'll see with your own eyes." I don't often defend Alliance policies. But it was interesting to watch a fanatic at work.
"I should live that long."
"If you want to, you will. I don't know how many more pills you have." I linked through the flyboy to Command and brought a speech analyzer on line.
"That was the only one," she said, as I'd expected, and the analyzer said she was telling the truth. I relaxed slightly. "So I'll be one of your prisoners of war."
"Presumably. Unless this has all been a case of mistaken identity."
"I've never fired a weapon. I've never killed anybody."
"Neither has my commander. She has degrees in military theory and cybernetic communication, but she's never been a soldier."
"But she has actually killed people. Lots of us."
"And you helped plan the assault on Portobello. By that logic, you killed friends of mine."
"No I didn't," she said. Quick, intense, lying.
"You killed them while I was intimately connected to their minds. Some of them died very horribly."
"No. No."
"Don't bother to lie to me. I can bring people back from the dead, remember? I could have destroyed your village with one thought. And I can tell when you're lying."
She was silent for a moment, considering that. She must have known about voice analyzers. "I am the mayor of San Ignacio. There will be repercussions."
"Not legal ones. We have a warrant for your detention, signed by the governor of your province."
She made a spitting sound. "Pepe Ano." His name was Pellipianocio, Italian, but her Spanish converted it to "Joe Asshole."
"I take it he's not popular with the rebels. But he was one of you."
"He inherited a coffee plantation from his uncle and was such a bad farmer he
"No painkillers until we land, I'm afraid." I could knock her out with another trank, but that would complicate her medical situation. "Where do you hurt?"
"Chest. Chest and neck. Could you take this damned tape off? I'm not going anywhere."
I cleared it with Command and a foot-long razor-keen bayonet snicked into my hand. She shrank away, as much as her bonds would allow. "Just a knife." I cut the tape around her chest and knees and helped her to a sitting position. I queried the flyboy and she confirmed that the woman was apparently unarmed, so I freed her hands and feet.
"May I use that toilet?"
"Sure." When she stood up she doubled over in pain, clutching her side.
"Here." I couldn't stand upright in the seven-foot-high cargo area, either, so we shuffled aft, a bent-over giant helping a bent-over dwarf. I helped her with her belt and trousers.
"Please," she said. "Be a gentleman."
I turned my back on her but of course could still see her. "I can't be a gentleman," I said. "I'm five women and five men, working together."
"So that's true? You make women fight?"
"You don't fight, Senora?"
"I protect my land and my people." If I hadn't been looking at her I would have misinterpreted the strong emotion in her voice. I saw her hand flick into a breast pocket and caught her wrist just before her hand made it to her mouth.
I forced her fingers open and took a small white pill. It had an odor of bitter almonds, low-tech.
"That wouldn't do any good," I said. "We'd just revive you and you'd be sick."
"You kill people and, when it pleases you, you bring them back from the dead. But you are not monsters."
I put the pill in a pocket on my leg and watched her carefully. "If we were monsters we would bring them back to life, extract our information, and kill them again."
"You don't do that."
"We have more than eight thousand of your people in prison, awaiting repatriation after the war. It would be easier to kill them, wouldn't it?"
"Concentration camps." She stood and pulled up her trousers, and sat back down.
"A loaded term. There are camps where the Costa Rican prisoners of war are concentrated. With UN and Red Cross observers, making sure they're not mistreated. As you'll see with your own eyes." I don't often defend Alliance policies. But it was interesting to watch a fanatic at work.
"I should live that long."
"If you want to, you will. I don't know how many more pills you have." I linked through the flyboy to Command and brought a speech analyzer on line.
"That was the only one," she said, as I'd expected, and the analyzer said she was telling the truth. I relaxed slightly. "So I'll be one of your prisoners of war."
"Presumably. Unless this has all been a case of mistaken identity."
"I've never fired a weapon. I've never killed anybody."
"Neither has my commander. She has degrees in military theory and cybernetic communication, but she's never been a soldier."
"But she has actually killed people. Lots of us."
"And you helped plan the assault on Portobello. By that logic, you killed friends of mine."
"No I didn't," she said. Quick, intense, lying.
"You killed them while I was intimately connected to their minds. Some of them died very horribly."
"No. No."
"Don't bother to lie to me. I can bring people back from the dead, remember? I could have destroyed your village with one thought. And I can tell when you're lying."
She was silent for a moment, considering that. She must have known about voice analyzers. "I am the mayor of San Ignacio. There will be repercussions."
"Not legal ones. We have a warrant for your detention, signed by the governor of your province."
She made a spitting sound. "Pepe Ano." His name was Pellipianocio, Italian, but her Spanish converted it to "Joe Asshole."
"I take it he's not popular with the rebels. But he was one of you."
"He inherited a coffee plantation from his uncle and was such a bad farmer he
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