to tell the other boy, Cadet Oscar Arrias, how to do it, how to command it. He also saw that First Centurion Ricardo Cruz, temporarily detached from his maniple for a month of cadet support, supervising the exercise up close and personally, was practically bursting at the seams to tell the boy to jump in and take over.
And there’s no good answer I could give you, Ham, ran Chapayev’s thoughts. Tell him how to do it and maybe you make a friend for life…but it’s just about as likely you make an enemy. Don’t do a thing but follow along and everyone in your section who knows anything about you assumes you’re a selfish slacker. Hell, I wouldn’t know what to do myself, boy.
And peer reports will be coming in a few weeks. I wonder if your old man thought of that, or that all this might just ruin you.
Chapter Four
There never was a good war or a bad peace.
—Benjamin Franklin
Everyone’s a pacifist between wars. It’s like being a vegetarian between meals.
—Colman McCarthy
Palacio de las Trixies, Ciudad Balboa, Republic of Balboa
Since the defeat of Pigna’s coup and the extinction of the rival regime, Presidente , and former Duque , Raul Parilla had moved into the official and traditional executive mansion, an open-courted “ Palazzo ” in the Venetian style. It even had, per the name, a dozen or so trixies, colorful archaeopteryxes brought to Terra Nova by the Noahs. Under recent administrations, the trixies had been effective captives. Now the wire over the courtyard was mechanized, to roll back during the day. That was Carrera’s doing, as part of his trixie breeding and antaniae reduction programs.
Most trixies did, in fact, leave while the sun was up. Usually they returned by nightfall—when the wire rolled back over the open top—for their free meal.
The style of the palace, a carryover from early days of colonization, was extremely appropriate. No less than one once could have in Old Earth’s Venice—now sadly landlocked as a result of falling seas from global cooling—from his bedroom balcony Parilla could hit the waves of the sea with a hand-tossed rock.
Antaniae lived in the neighborhood, of course, that was the original point of keeping trixies there. Even now, the area was very old, very built up, with hidden spots, nooks, and crannies sufficient to shelter the antaniae from the day’s harsh sunlight. No extermination program had ever proven quite thorough enough.
Though the exterior of the palace was Venetian, the interior courtyard was very Arabesque, with sparkling columns in the Moorish style, a simple but elegant central fountain, sixteen symmetric but nonuniform arches, and a long staircase that arose in the back to lead to the second floor. Someone had probably had coup prevention in mind when that staircase had been designed; it was the only way up that led to the presidential quarters.
Parilla—short, stocky, swarthy, and with steel gray hair—was waiting at the top of the stairs, hand on a railing, as Carrera walked through the courtyard, skirting the central fountain. A gray, emerald green, and red trixie, bent over and drinking at the fountain, ignored him entirely.
He looks so old now¸ Carrera thought, looking up the staircase. And, well…I suppose he is.
“It’s not the years,” said Parilla, as if reading his chief soldier’s mind, “it’s the mileage.”
Carrera nodded, answering, “A year ago, Raul, you didn’t need a railing to hold yourself up.”
“Cascading failure,” Parilla said. “When things start to go wrong they all go wrong together…and fast. Come on, let’s go chat in my office.”
I don’t like the sound of that word, “chat,” Carrera thought. Maybe he was always more politician than soldier, but the old man was a pretty fair soldier too. A “chat” could be unpleasant.
* * *
The silverwood paneling in the presidential office was considerably older than that on the walls of Spirit of Peace ’s conference room. It
And there’s no good answer I could give you, Ham, ran Chapayev’s thoughts. Tell him how to do it and maybe you make a friend for life…but it’s just about as likely you make an enemy. Don’t do a thing but follow along and everyone in your section who knows anything about you assumes you’re a selfish slacker. Hell, I wouldn’t know what to do myself, boy.
And peer reports will be coming in a few weeks. I wonder if your old man thought of that, or that all this might just ruin you.
Chapter Four
There never was a good war or a bad peace.
—Benjamin Franklin
Everyone’s a pacifist between wars. It’s like being a vegetarian between meals.
—Colman McCarthy
Palacio de las Trixies, Ciudad Balboa, Republic of Balboa
Since the defeat of Pigna’s coup and the extinction of the rival regime, Presidente , and former Duque , Raul Parilla had moved into the official and traditional executive mansion, an open-courted “ Palazzo ” in the Venetian style. It even had, per the name, a dozen or so trixies, colorful archaeopteryxes brought to Terra Nova by the Noahs. Under recent administrations, the trixies had been effective captives. Now the wire over the courtyard was mechanized, to roll back during the day. That was Carrera’s doing, as part of his trixie breeding and antaniae reduction programs.
Most trixies did, in fact, leave while the sun was up. Usually they returned by nightfall—when the wire rolled back over the open top—for their free meal.
The style of the palace, a carryover from early days of colonization, was extremely appropriate. No less than one once could have in Old Earth’s Venice—now sadly landlocked as a result of falling seas from global cooling—from his bedroom balcony Parilla could hit the waves of the sea with a hand-tossed rock.
Antaniae lived in the neighborhood, of course, that was the original point of keeping trixies there. Even now, the area was very old, very built up, with hidden spots, nooks, and crannies sufficient to shelter the antaniae from the day’s harsh sunlight. No extermination program had ever proven quite thorough enough.
Though the exterior of the palace was Venetian, the interior courtyard was very Arabesque, with sparkling columns in the Moorish style, a simple but elegant central fountain, sixteen symmetric but nonuniform arches, and a long staircase that arose in the back to lead to the second floor. Someone had probably had coup prevention in mind when that staircase had been designed; it was the only way up that led to the presidential quarters.
Parilla—short, stocky, swarthy, and with steel gray hair—was waiting at the top of the stairs, hand on a railing, as Carrera walked through the courtyard, skirting the central fountain. A gray, emerald green, and red trixie, bent over and drinking at the fountain, ignored him entirely.
He looks so old now¸ Carrera thought, looking up the staircase. And, well…I suppose he is.
“It’s not the years,” said Parilla, as if reading his chief soldier’s mind, “it’s the mileage.”
Carrera nodded, answering, “A year ago, Raul, you didn’t need a railing to hold yourself up.”
“Cascading failure,” Parilla said. “When things start to go wrong they all go wrong together…and fast. Come on, let’s go chat in my office.”
I don’t like the sound of that word, “chat,” Carrera thought. Maybe he was always more politician than soldier, but the old man was a pretty fair soldier too. A “chat” could be unpleasant.
* * *
The silverwood paneling in the presidential office was considerably older than that on the walls of Spirit of Peace ’s conference room. It
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