The Lotus Eaters by Tom Kratman Page A

that, though we do not have adequate access to their plans and operations department. And we would have informed you a bit sooner, except that you were busy fucking your mistress in the apartment you carved out for her from military offices, just down the hall.
    Malcoeur was an ass-licker, so all on the staff agreed, but he was an ass-licker who could still think . And he was enjoying Janier's feeling like a fool.
    "Go and fetch me the G-2"—the intelligence officer for the Tauran Union forces in the Transitway—"and bring the miscreant to me by the scruff of his neck," Janier ordered. "I am confident that after we have a little chat he will not in the future be so remiss."

Rome, Province of Italy, Old Earth
    Almost, almost , Marguerite felt confident enough of her position to skip proskynesis before the SecGen. But , no, this is too important to both the Earth and myself to let pique and arrogance get in the way .
    Moore stood beside her at the grand door to the former Papal apartment. The two waited while the major domo announced, "Captain and Admiral pro tem Marguerite Wallenstein, Class Two, for an audience with the Secretary General."
    Moore said, "I'll be waiting when you've finished, Marguerite."
    Clutching a valise in one hand, Marguerite nodded and advanced alone. She showed more confidence than she truly felt. The soft, plush rug underfoot muffled the sound of her high, black uniform boots. At a spot on the carpet about a dozen meters from the SecGen's large and ornate desk, Wallenstein placed the valise down and dropped to her knees. Leaning forward, she then placed both hands on the carpet ahead of her. Keeping eye contact until the last second, Wallenstein then bent and kissed the carpet three times, on the last kiss leaving her forehead to the floor. She straightened out until her breasts and belly were flush to the carpet and stayed that way.
    "Arise, my child," the SecGen called. As gracefully as possible, under the circumstances, Wallenstein did. When she did, she was able to note certain things about the SecGen. He was young in appearance, very young. Well, you would expect that from the very best anti-agathics , she thought. Such as are available to Class Ones , she added, with bitterness in her mind. She thought he must have had extensive plastic surgery, too. No man could be that  . . . pretty. Not naturally. Lastly, and most oddly, the SecGen shimmered, as if his skin had been freshly dusted with gold. Which it probably has been , she thought.
    "Come closer, Captain," the SecGen said. Marguerite felt her stomach sink.
    If he's using my permanent rank then maybe I won't be prorogued into the Admiralty. Shit.
    The SecGen made a subtle but imperious gesture with his left hand. Marguerite thought she heard the door closing behind her and suddenly felt as if the major domo had left her alone with the SecGen.
    "My dear friend, the Marchioness of Amnesty, wrote to me of what wonderful command of your tongue you had," the SecGen said, twisting his chair to one side. "Before we discuss weightier matters, show me."

Furiocentro Convention Center, Balboa City
    Jorge Mendoza, warrant officer, and Ricardo Cruz, Senior Centurion, saw each other, recognized each other, and immediately pushed through the ranks of the men to wrap each other in grand bear hugs, pounding each other on their backs. Cruz was careful not to knock Mendoza over. Jorge's legs, both of them, were made of artificial carbon fibers, enhanced with computer control. Mendoza and Cruz had been pretty tight for some years now, ever since Jorge, though blind at the time, insisted on joining in a political street battle at Cruz's side. Guts like that, Cruz tended to appreciate.
    "Jorge!" exclaimed Cruz, "I haven't seen you since—"
    "Not since you were in the Senior Centurion's Course and took my class in Historia y Filosofia Moral ," Mendoza supplied.
    "It was a good class," Cruz complemented. "I got a lot out of it."
    "Thanks, Ricardo. I appreciate