“Maybe,” Norris said, “it’s not going to be that complicated, you know? Europeans didn’t understand the aboriginal Americans either, but between firearms, horses, and smallpox, they managed to wipe them out pretty handily. The bleeding hearts might wish it was different, but might does make right, you know. It’s the winners in any clash of cultures that write the books and program the downloads afterward. Which means it’s the winners who decide who gets defined in whose image.”
“Does everyone who works for PanTerra have such a wonderfully bleak understanding of intercultural relations?” Hanson asked. “Or is it just you?”
“I’m a realist, Doctor. The people I work for are realists. And we believe in making things happen…our way, objective worldview, not subjective, not blinkered by sentiment or sentimentality.”
“I see. I hope you live to enjoy the fruits of your philosophy. Of course, that’s not likely now, is it?”
“Of course it is. The Joint International Expedition will be along in another six months, and that’ll be our ride home. The Marines will keep us safe until then.” He grinned. “Better living through superior firepower.”
“Goddess,” Hanson said, shaking her head. “You just don’t get it, do you?”
“I was going to say the same about you, Doctor. You worry about Ahannu culture and psychology. Make your notes and collect your data. I’m afraid the natives on Ishtar are about to go the way of all primitives once they come in contact with a technically superior culture. It might be that a thousand years from now the only thing people will even know about the Frogs is what you record here now.”
She turned and strode from the room then, angry.
Norris chuckled, then returned his attention to the shattered office of his predecessor. Nothing…nothing. Stooping, he scooped up a double handful of computer memory chips and let them clatter on a tabletop. Some of the scattered mems might be salvageable, but he didn’t have the equipment or the time to find out. Finding the one mem in hundreds dealing with Ahannu slavery was worse than looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. Besides, what he needed was probably encrypted, and he didn’t have the password.
No matter. Things would have been much easier if Carleton had left behind a note for those who might come after him, but in fact its absence changed nothing. The Marines would do their job, crushing the Geremelet faction or whatever the hell it was really called…and then he would step in and do his job, happily earning his billion-dollar paycheck along the way. Full payment was contingent on a successful outcome in the negotiations with the Ahannu leadership, so he was determined that nothing would interfere with PanTerra’s plans, or with his.
Explosions thundered in the distance, and he walked across to the shattered window. Marine Wasps circled, floated, pounced, raising more explosions and additional pillars of greasy-looking smoke into the early morning sky. Beneath the window, Marines lounged in the courtyard, unconcerned by the aerial barrage taking place less than a kilometer away. On the Legation walls, other Marines stood guard, as a patrol passed through the North Gate into the Ahannu district.
At this rate, the city would be secure within another few hours.
He decided that he’d better talk to King about prisoners. He would need one, preferably a high-ranking one, to carry his negotiation demands to Geremelet.
Marine Bivouac
Legation Compound
New Sumer, Ishtar
1625 hours ALT
Thin red sunlight streamed across the city at rooftop level, touching the roofs and upper portions of the higher structures, leaving the streets still in deep shadow. The Llalande sun, little more than a bright ruby spark, showed itself through a narrow slit between the eastern horizon and the cloud deck. The clouds overhead were slate-gray, heavily striated by high-altitude winds into swirling streaks and arabesques.
At ground level, though, the air was calm, hot, and moist. It had rained several times in the past few hours, and the streets were wet. Marine working parties continued to move among the nanocrete domes of the mission compound, bringing the bodies of Ahannu and Sag-ura to a central collection point and collecting scattered weapons and equipment for cataloging and study. Garroway and the other survivors of the squad had drawn light duty—standing guard over the alien bodies to keep the morbidly curious and the souvenir hunters at a distance. At the moment, Garvey had the duty. Dunne, Womicki, Vinita, and Garroway had joined him, though. No one felt like sleeping. The air was too charged, too pregnant with unrealized promise and danger.
“There,” Womicki said. “You feel that?”