“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.”
Al-Ibrahimi smiled the way a striker might when talking about dismemberment. “If necessary,” he added, “I’ll handle any complaints that arise from your fifty-three fellows.”
“It seems to me that we’re a small enough group for true democracy to apply,” President Reitz said. “Even for matters like trials. A thousand people can run themselves without an institutional structure.”
Tamara Lundie looked up sharply from her console. Al-Ibrahimi nodded minusculy to his aide.
“Ms. Reitz,” Lundie said, “for the next six months and subject to extension, the structure of Colony BZ 459 is that of a Population Authority project under the sole control of the project manager which the Authority has appointed. We are not a democracy.”
“Technically yes—” Reitz began, her argument cloaked as agreement by the use of the limiting adverb.