desire to avoid the wholesale violence that such
alliances may entail.
So you can focus on retail violence? Neil thought
darkly, remembering the beating at the airport.
“I understand, Mister President,” he said, not meaning it.
Lawson Conrad, president of the Republic of Tecolote, sat
silent for a moment, then said, “You know, we’ve been here a decade now,
haven’t we, Katherine?”
Naima’s voice was tight. “Yes, Mister President.”
“We were such adventurers when we got here. Rough-and-ready,
eh? I insisted being first off that cruise liner. The dock hands didn’t know
what to make of us, charging off the gangway in our battle armor like that. We
had the government buildings before they knew what hit them. We only lost one
man; what was his name?”
“Sree. Sree Melkote.”
“Yes! The little scout from Sindh. He ran too far ahead of
his unit and was accidently killed by someone in Vargas’ company who mistook
him for one of the palace guard. Other than that, probably the most successful
amphibious invasion in history. But not so much glory since. Much work, trying
to keep a country above water. Much work. In any event, Lieutenant, thank you
again for the assistance. Enjoy the festivities.”
Neil rose. “Thank you, Mister President.” What just
happened here?
He left Conrad and Naima alone. The big Korean was not
waiting for him, so Neil returned to the back porch and found the other
Americans from the consulate. They probed him on where he had gone, and he
demurred, saying he had checked out the kitchen and run into an acquaintance.
He was getting better at that, lying without telling an actual lie.
Sycamore, Sequoia continent, Kuan Yin
Major Shen Liang’s eyes kept darting to the image of his
wife and two daughters, and he chided himself for getting distracted. The
captain’s reports on his screen begged to be addressed; they were simply
terrible, tiny bits of real information dressed up with poetic declarations of
imminent victory and various references to auspicious numbers.
What has happened to our training? Shen groused to
himself. This sort of superstitious prattle may work on country folk and the
common soldiery, but officers should know better. Intelligence updates
needed to be in straightforward language. He read further, grimacing
internally. This captain would make a good press officer.
He opened a word processor to compose a reprimand to his
subordinate – I shall show you how to speak directly – but before he
could type a word, an incoming message filled his screen. The general who sent
it was in an office not six meters away, but apparently calling out or coming
to fetch him would have been undignified.
Major General Xie Quanyou was not a man who could keep his
agitation hidden as well as some, but he generally did not take it out on his
staff. Instead, one could gauge his unhappiness by the temperature in his
office: The more stressed he was, the hotter he felt, and the more frigid he
made his workspace.
Xie’s room was merely cool today, close to twenty degrees
Celsius. Perhaps we have some good news for a change.
“Good news!” the general said agreeably. “I just received a
report from one of our Flying Dragons strike teams. Using information provided
by your interrogators, they intercepted a group of American guerrillas
traveling from Cypress to this area. There was a brief firefight, but we
captured more than a dozen without losing a soldier.”
“Was Reg Foster among them?”
“Who?”
Shen sighed inwardly. They never listen. “Colonel Regina
Foster is the highest-ranking U.S. military officer on Kuan Yin who is both
alive and not in our custody. She was a staff officer for Major General LeDoux,
the senior U.S. military officer on the planet, who was killed during our
assault on this territory in late 2139. Foster is a former armored battalion
commander, and we believe she is the nominal leader of the American insurgency
on the planet.”
“Ah, yes,
alliances may entail.
So you can focus on retail violence? Neil thought
darkly, remembering the beating at the airport.
“I understand, Mister President,” he said, not meaning it.
Lawson Conrad, president of the Republic of Tecolote, sat
silent for a moment, then said, “You know, we’ve been here a decade now,
haven’t we, Katherine?”
Naima’s voice was tight. “Yes, Mister President.”
“We were such adventurers when we got here. Rough-and-ready,
eh? I insisted being first off that cruise liner. The dock hands didn’t know
what to make of us, charging off the gangway in our battle armor like that. We
had the government buildings before they knew what hit them. We only lost one
man; what was his name?”
“Sree. Sree Melkote.”
“Yes! The little scout from Sindh. He ran too far ahead of
his unit and was accidently killed by someone in Vargas’ company who mistook
him for one of the palace guard. Other than that, probably the most successful
amphibious invasion in history. But not so much glory since. Much work, trying
to keep a country above water. Much work. In any event, Lieutenant, thank you
again for the assistance. Enjoy the festivities.”
Neil rose. “Thank you, Mister President.” What just
happened here?
He left Conrad and Naima alone. The big Korean was not
waiting for him, so Neil returned to the back porch and found the other
Americans from the consulate. They probed him on where he had gone, and he
demurred, saying he had checked out the kitchen and run into an acquaintance.
He was getting better at that, lying without telling an actual lie.
Sycamore, Sequoia continent, Kuan Yin
Major Shen Liang’s eyes kept darting to the image of his
wife and two daughters, and he chided himself for getting distracted. The
captain’s reports on his screen begged to be addressed; they were simply
terrible, tiny bits of real information dressed up with poetic declarations of
imminent victory and various references to auspicious numbers.
What has happened to our training? Shen groused to
himself. This sort of superstitious prattle may work on country folk and the
common soldiery, but officers should know better. Intelligence updates
needed to be in straightforward language. He read further, grimacing
internally. This captain would make a good press officer.
He opened a word processor to compose a reprimand to his
subordinate – I shall show you how to speak directly – but before he
could type a word, an incoming message filled his screen. The general who sent
it was in an office not six meters away, but apparently calling out or coming
to fetch him would have been undignified.
Major General Xie Quanyou was not a man who could keep his
agitation hidden as well as some, but he generally did not take it out on his
staff. Instead, one could gauge his unhappiness by the temperature in his
office: The more stressed he was, the hotter he felt, and the more frigid he
made his workspace.
Xie’s room was merely cool today, close to twenty degrees
Celsius. Perhaps we have some good news for a change.
“Good news!” the general said agreeably. “I just received a
report from one of our Flying Dragons strike teams. Using information provided
by your interrogators, they intercepted a group of American guerrillas
traveling from Cypress to this area. There was a brief firefight, but we
captured more than a dozen without losing a soldier.”
“Was Reg Foster among them?”
“Who?”
Shen sighed inwardly. They never listen. “Colonel Regina
Foster is the highest-ranking U.S. military officer on Kuan Yin who is both
alive and not in our custody. She was a staff officer for Major General LeDoux,
the senior U.S. military officer on the planet, who was killed during our
assault on this territory in late 2139. Foster is a former armored battalion
commander, and we believe she is the nominal leader of the American insurgency
on the planet.”
“Ah, yes,
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