demanded.
"It's
VII Gemina
."
"Is that good?" Midnight asked.
"It could be a lot worse. You'll be all right. They'll be fair."
But his heart sank on his own behalf.
— 17 —
"Station is secure," the air told WarAvocat. Strate had moved to WarCentral, brain and heart of
VII Gemina
in combat. It made no difference where he was physically, but his presence there had symbolic value.
"Loyal personnel have been liberated. Little damage was done the physical plant."
"The data banks?"
"Sound and secure, sir."
"Very good. Prisoners?"
"Five percent per SOP. Random sample."
"Very good." WarAvocat preened. "Prep station for return to service. Send the captives over. What's your casualty status?"
"Zero for Medical. They weren't set for a real fight."
"Excellent." WarAvocat turned his attention to the world below, where operations were going as smoothly. Rabble never put up a fight against professionals.
That could take care of itself. He needed rest. He went to the space reserved, said, "Access, WarCentral furnishings. Close the WarAvocat's night room." Fantasy walls snapped into existence. "Give me a bed."
The floor crept, coalesced, softened, rose. Hanaver Strate stretched himself out. He fell asleep in seconds.
A soft buzz wakened Strate. "Yes?"
"Noon reports from Peacekeeper One, WarAvocat."
"Very well." He rose, smoothed his apparel, ran thin, bony fingers through his hair. Two hours here was worth six in a normal bed.
Gemina
reached in and reworked the sleeping body, eased the tensions, hastened the outflow of fatigue poisons.
Noon reports. Merod Schene's day ran only a few hours ahead of
VII Gemina
's. It would be early afternoon down there, just twelve hours after the first troops grounded.
An aide awaited Strate, walked with him. "No bad news?"
"No bad news, sir. Peacekeeper One is ahead of schedule with casualties nominal. The insurrectionists were unable to acquire significant portions of the garrison arsenal. Merod Schene is ninety percent secure. I and I have begun sifting survivors. Peacekeeper One has requested hospital and reconstruction units. He's dispatched his primary combat forces to satellite towns, mineheads and agricultural complexes where the insurrectionists routed the authorities. Our speed in recovering those facilities seems limited to the speed of personnel carriers in atmosphere at six hundred thirty millibars."
WarAvocat awarded the joke a chuckle. He seated himself at his command station. "Review noon reports," he told his desk.
The operation constituted an exercise. Most casualties had come accidentally, not by enemy action. He was into the I & I data before he found anything interesting. "Deified? Question."
His fellow Dictat, Ansehl Ronygos, materialized on a small screen. "Yes?"
"What's an Immune?"
"Immune is an honorary title from the lower social orders, usually indicating an unofficial magistrate. An Immune has no legal standing but his word acts like law. Most Immunes are too strong, too tough, or too crazy to meddle with. Occasionally one is proclaimed for wisdom or artistic value. Immunity indicates a popular consensus that an individual be exempt from the hazards of lawlessness."
"Apparently the Immunes of Merod Schene opposed the insurrection."
"Yes."
"They tried to give warning that a blowup was coming."
"Yes."
"And the Deified are interested in these Immunes?"
"In one in particular. Possibly."
WarAvocat awaited clarification. None was forthcoming. Sometimes the Deified were that way.
He released the requested hospital and construction units, then reviewed the data from station. He gleaned seven prior visas issued to the krekelen. Two had not been known to
Glorious Spent
, nor recalled by the beast itself. The additions gave WarAvocat a solid picture of
VII Gemina
's future course.
He hoped
VII Gemina
would not have to clean up every world along the way.
"Access, Peacekeeper One."
The commander of the landing force came back in seconds. "Yes,
"It's
VII Gemina
."
"Is that good?" Midnight asked.
"It could be a lot worse. You'll be all right. They'll be fair."
But his heart sank on his own behalf.
— 17 —
"Station is secure," the air told WarAvocat. Strate had moved to WarCentral, brain and heart of
VII Gemina
in combat. It made no difference where he was physically, but his presence there had symbolic value.
"Loyal personnel have been liberated. Little damage was done the physical plant."
"The data banks?"
"Sound and secure, sir."
"Very good. Prisoners?"
"Five percent per SOP. Random sample."
"Very good." WarAvocat preened. "Prep station for return to service. Send the captives over. What's your casualty status?"
"Zero for Medical. They weren't set for a real fight."
"Excellent." WarAvocat turned his attention to the world below, where operations were going as smoothly. Rabble never put up a fight against professionals.
That could take care of itself. He needed rest. He went to the space reserved, said, "Access, WarCentral furnishings. Close the WarAvocat's night room." Fantasy walls snapped into existence. "Give me a bed."
The floor crept, coalesced, softened, rose. Hanaver Strate stretched himself out. He fell asleep in seconds.
A soft buzz wakened Strate. "Yes?"
"Noon reports from Peacekeeper One, WarAvocat."
"Very well." He rose, smoothed his apparel, ran thin, bony fingers through his hair. Two hours here was worth six in a normal bed.
Gemina
reached in and reworked the sleeping body, eased the tensions, hastened the outflow of fatigue poisons.
Noon reports. Merod Schene's day ran only a few hours ahead of
VII Gemina
's. It would be early afternoon down there, just twelve hours after the first troops grounded.
An aide awaited Strate, walked with him. "No bad news?"
"No bad news, sir. Peacekeeper One is ahead of schedule with casualties nominal. The insurrectionists were unable to acquire significant portions of the garrison arsenal. Merod Schene is ninety percent secure. I and I have begun sifting survivors. Peacekeeper One has requested hospital and reconstruction units. He's dispatched his primary combat forces to satellite towns, mineheads and agricultural complexes where the insurrectionists routed the authorities. Our speed in recovering those facilities seems limited to the speed of personnel carriers in atmosphere at six hundred thirty millibars."
WarAvocat awarded the joke a chuckle. He seated himself at his command station. "Review noon reports," he told his desk.
The operation constituted an exercise. Most casualties had come accidentally, not by enemy action. He was into the I & I data before he found anything interesting. "Deified? Question."
His fellow Dictat, Ansehl Ronygos, materialized on a small screen. "Yes?"
"What's an Immune?"
"Immune is an honorary title from the lower social orders, usually indicating an unofficial magistrate. An Immune has no legal standing but his word acts like law. Most Immunes are too strong, too tough, or too crazy to meddle with. Occasionally one is proclaimed for wisdom or artistic value. Immunity indicates a popular consensus that an individual be exempt from the hazards of lawlessness."
"Apparently the Immunes of Merod Schene opposed the insurrection."
"Yes."
"They tried to give warning that a blowup was coming."
"Yes."
"And the Deified are interested in these Immunes?"
"In one in particular. Possibly."
WarAvocat awaited clarification. None was forthcoming. Sometimes the Deified were that way.
He released the requested hospital and construction units, then reviewed the data from station. He gleaned seven prior visas issued to the krekelen. Two had not been known to
Glorious Spent
, nor recalled by the beast itself. The additions gave WarAvocat a solid picture of
VII Gemina
's future course.
He hoped
VII Gemina
would not have to clean up every world along the way.
"Access, Peacekeeper One."
The commander of the landing force came back in seconds. "Yes,
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