in a ominous way. Sun needed to restore order to the universe, and do it immediately. “We cannot concede the battlefield to the enemy,” he said. “If we do, we'll be allowing all manner of mischief to take place.”
“With all respect, sir, we’re not halting mischief now. We’re doing precisely what our opponents want us to do— running ourselves ragged chasing false alarms.”
Sun drew himself up. “Do you have any concrete suggestions, Khamiss?” he demanded. “Or are you just asking to be taken off the detail?”
“Perhaps we can have our computer experts review the alarm systems. Perhaps the programming has been interfered with.”
“I’ve done that. They haven’t found anything yet.”
“In that case, sir, may I suggest that we make some attempt to categorize these alarms and respond only to those with high priority. I think we can safely ignore all alarms in remote parts of the station, or alarms that go off when our principal burglars are known to be somewhere else, and concentrate our forces on recent alarms that go off in the dead of night, or other prime thieving times.”
Sun glared stonily at Khamiss’s hologram. Khamiss’s suggestions made perfect sense, but still it seemed to Sun that this constituted a challenge to his authority.
“I will consider the suggestion, Khamiss,” he said. “In the meantime, you’re due in Peach Division.”
The weariness around Khamiss’s eyes became more apparent. “Very well, sir.”
Good, Sun thought. The incipient mutiny was quelled. Time for a bit of encouragement from the generalissimo. He would raise the level of morale and return to his troops their sharp combative edge.
“Keep fighting the good fight,” Sun said. He broke into a rare smile. “You and your men are to be congratulated. You're doing very well.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Lord bless you.”
The hologram vanished.
The blue command center hummed on. Three more alarms went off in swift succession.
Very well, Sun thought. Prioritize. Everything fits into a category, and some of these alarms must seem more suspicious than others.
If this weren’t someone else's idea, he'd implement it immediately.
*
Khamiss leaned wearily against the wall. Her crew echoed her posture. “Right,” she said. “I hereby declare that the burglars have won.”
One of her troopers, a young human, looked at her with an insubordinate grin. “Does this mean we fall on our swords, ma’am?”
“No. It means we go to the employees' lounge and get something to eat.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ma’am.” Another human, a blonde named Gretchen. “I have a bottle of hross in my room. It’s only a few corridors down.”
“By all means fetch it.”
Khamiss smiled. For the first time in hours, her security division was moving with alacrity.
Leadership, she thought. There was nothing like it.
*
Geoff Fu George stepped back from the closet door and admired his handiwork. His blind looked exactly like the top of the closet, and no one could see the jewelry concealed above the false ceiling.
Moving in confident silence, Fu George let himself out of the Waltz twins’ room and locked the door behind him. Mentally, using the proximity wire in his collar, he checked his darksuit’s chronometers, turned off the holographic camouflage, and retrieved his hovering media globe, which he put in his pocket. He began moving briskly toward the ballroom.
Allowed Burglars are most vulnerable during the period immediately following their crime: the rules of their profession demand that they keep the swag in their residence, or on their person, until midnight following the day of the crime. Usually they accomplish this by renting another residence under a false name, simply hiding out for the day following the theft.
On Silverside Station, hiding out was impossible. Fu George knew for a certainty that his room would be searched if a theft was committed, and that his person would be at least scrutinized. He
“With all respect, sir, we’re not halting mischief now. We’re doing precisely what our opponents want us to do— running ourselves ragged chasing false alarms.”
Sun drew himself up. “Do you have any concrete suggestions, Khamiss?” he demanded. “Or are you just asking to be taken off the detail?”
“Perhaps we can have our computer experts review the alarm systems. Perhaps the programming has been interfered with.”
“I’ve done that. They haven’t found anything yet.”
“In that case, sir, may I suggest that we make some attempt to categorize these alarms and respond only to those with high priority. I think we can safely ignore all alarms in remote parts of the station, or alarms that go off when our principal burglars are known to be somewhere else, and concentrate our forces on recent alarms that go off in the dead of night, or other prime thieving times.”
Sun glared stonily at Khamiss’s hologram. Khamiss’s suggestions made perfect sense, but still it seemed to Sun that this constituted a challenge to his authority.
“I will consider the suggestion, Khamiss,” he said. “In the meantime, you’re due in Peach Division.”
The weariness around Khamiss’s eyes became more apparent. “Very well, sir.”
Good, Sun thought. The incipient mutiny was quelled. Time for a bit of encouragement from the generalissimo. He would raise the level of morale and return to his troops their sharp combative edge.
“Keep fighting the good fight,” Sun said. He broke into a rare smile. “You and your men are to be congratulated. You're doing very well.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Lord bless you.”
The hologram vanished.
The blue command center hummed on. Three more alarms went off in swift succession.
Very well, Sun thought. Prioritize. Everything fits into a category, and some of these alarms must seem more suspicious than others.
If this weren’t someone else's idea, he'd implement it immediately.
*
Khamiss leaned wearily against the wall. Her crew echoed her posture. “Right,” she said. “I hereby declare that the burglars have won.”
One of her troopers, a young human, looked at her with an insubordinate grin. “Does this mean we fall on our swords, ma’am?”
“No. It means we go to the employees' lounge and get something to eat.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ma’am.” Another human, a blonde named Gretchen. “I have a bottle of hross in my room. It’s only a few corridors down.”
“By all means fetch it.”
Khamiss smiled. For the first time in hours, her security division was moving with alacrity.
Leadership, she thought. There was nothing like it.
*
Geoff Fu George stepped back from the closet door and admired his handiwork. His blind looked exactly like the top of the closet, and no one could see the jewelry concealed above the false ceiling.
Moving in confident silence, Fu George let himself out of the Waltz twins’ room and locked the door behind him. Mentally, using the proximity wire in his collar, he checked his darksuit’s chronometers, turned off the holographic camouflage, and retrieved his hovering media globe, which he put in his pocket. He began moving briskly toward the ballroom.
Allowed Burglars are most vulnerable during the period immediately following their crime: the rules of their profession demand that they keep the swag in their residence, or on their person, until midnight following the day of the crime. Usually they accomplish this by renting another residence under a false name, simply hiding out for the day following the theft.
On Silverside Station, hiding out was impossible. Fu George knew for a certainty that his room would be searched if a theft was committed, and that his person would be at least scrutinized. He
Similar Books
