Redliners(31)

His finger prodded the image, scattering it into discordant shimmers until he withdrew and permitted the interference patterns to reform. An animal the size of a pig appeared, cropping shoots several yards away from the bush.

"And we'll, we'll clear it with a grenade or whatever."

"Some stuff isn't going to be in the database," Gabe said.

"That's so," Blohm agreed. "Especially at first. Sure, we'll have to be careful, but we're used to that, Gabe. Are you going to tell me this is as bad as a drifting minefield like we had to walk through on Kwam III?"

"There's something else you're not thinking about, snake," Gabrilovitch said. "The rest of the people may stick close to base, but the major's going to want you and me out in the boonies scouting. For things like those swarms and maybe worse stuff coming in. Tough as Kwam III, you say? Tougher, I'll bet you, and we're going to be out there pretty much the whole time C41's on planet."

"They'll scout in aircars," Blohm said, frowning.

"They got one, count them, one aircar on Deck One," Gabrilovitch said. "How long do you figure that's going to last with no more maintenance than a bunch of janitors can give it? It's not like this colony's got a real support echelon, you know."

The browser suddenly stiffened, kicking violently with all four feet. Its square head remained close to the ground. A close-up showed that a shoot had sprung open like an explosive harpoon when the animal bit down on it. Petals held the browser as if it was chewing a mouthful of fish-hooks. The bramble bush hunched forward to engulf the browser held by the barbed root tip.

"I guess you might be right, Gabe," Blohm said slowly.

"I'm going to go talk to the major," Gabrilovitch continued, "but I know what he's going to say. `You volunteered for this unit, and by God you'll do the job I give you now that you're here.' That's what he'll say."

"I guess you're right, Gabe," Blohm said.

Blohm imagined himself in the jungle with nobody else around. It'd be like being alone on a planet. No responsibilities, letting his helmet report conditions. No decisions to make that affected anybody else, just following a patrol route.

"I'll see what I can do, snake," Gabe said as he rose. He shook his head. "But I figure we're fucked, you and me."

The situation Gabrilovitch described was what Caius Blohm had wanted since he killed a floorful of civilians during Active Cloak. Maybe there was a God after all.





Getting to Know You


"A different kind of architecture from what I'm used to," Councillor Suares said with a faint smile as he viewed the settlement plan projected over al-Ibrahimi's desk. He glanced toward Farrell and explained, "I've been in industrial design, you see. I suppose the challenge will be good for me. I don't suppose anyone has computed moduli of strength for the local woods?"

"Not in that precise form, Mr. Suares," said Tamara Lundie. She was operating the hologram projector at a console folded down from the end of the desk. "I can compute approximations based on the span and thickness of branches, if you like."

"Oh, that would be excellent!" Suares said. "Of course initially we'll be limited to walls of stabilized clay with sheet-stock floors and roofs. But we'll move on."

The colonists had reacted remarkably well to their enforced circumstances. Farrell supposed that was an advantage to drafting an elite group—as the residents of Horizon Towers clearly were. It seemed a waste of talented people, but a soldier gets used to that sort of thing.

"Not the sort of law I'm used to either, Jafar," Matthew Lock said, "but I'll go over the proposed codes tonight and make a recommendation tomorrow. I'd advise you to create a proper committee for the purpose, though, to avoid recriminations afterwards. You realize that there are at least thirty attorneys in the vessel, don't you?"

Farrell wasn't sure whether Lock had calmed down since the two of them first met, or if the apparent shouting anger had been merely a ploy the lawyer had dropped when it failed to have a useful effect. He was clearly an ambitious man. A raw colony was probably a small pond compared to the scope of Lock's ambitions back on Earth, but he was making the best—the most, at any rate—of his present circumstances.

"There are fifty-four persons aboard who hold law degrees," Lundie said. "Not all of them were licensed or in active practice."

Even Lock looked surprised. It struck Farrell that there was exactly one lawyer per striker with the colony. Given the situation on the ground on Bezant, Farrell would've recommended more guns and fewer mouths.

"Your peers elected you to represent them, Mr. Lock," al-Ibrahimi said. The contrast with Lock's appropriation of the project manager's first name was evident and therefore, from a man like al-Ibrahimi, pointed. "Based on that election, I'm delegating to you the task of making a recommendation in your field of expertise. The decision will be mine."