Two new faces. I screwed the pooch this time. Kauffman dead, Hwang off to the regenners and fucking just in time, new shave or not that goddamn Fuller can sure fly a chopper. High wind and rain pissing down, and Cloudwalker’s chain saw dull as shit, that damn little patch we cleared was too small for the bird to land in . . . Howie lying there next to his leg. Son of a bitch that Fuller kid can fly! And he shouldn’t have had to, ’cause I shouldn’t have let the Bastards find us. Shit.
It wasn’t Cloudwalker’s turn to sit guard, but he liked doing it. He took his cup and moved out from under the basha, picking up his rifle and slinging it over his shoulder. As Cloudwalker padded down the trail Miscowksy surveyed the rest of the maniple. One of the new men was Andy Owassee. Miscowsky knew him; he’d been trying to get into the Special Air Service for years. The other—
Miscowsky raised his steel Sierra cup. As he drank he studied the new man’s face. Buford Purdy. Mulatto, by the look of him. “Cap’n Frazer doesn’t usually send recruits out with SAS patrols,” Miscowsky said.
“Hell, Sarge, he lives out here,” Owassee said. “Used to, anyway.”
“Yeah, I heard that.”
There was a long silence. Rain pattered down and dripped off the edges of the basha. Finally Purdy said, “I’ve got a lot to learn, don’t I?”
“Looks that way,” Miscowsky said, and set down his cup. “All right. Gimme your poncho.” He folded the poncho twice and laid it flat on the ground. Tandon and Owassee moved closer. Miscowsky adjusted the controls on his helmet and the outlines of the area appeared, faint against the mottled green of the poncho. “OK. We’re here.” He ignored the red splotch that showed where Barton’s Bastards had ambushed him. “Sat recon says there’s a village over west of us. Twelve klicks. Standard procedure. We go set up to watch, be sure they’re not working with Barton—”
“They not,” Purdy said.
“Eh? How do you—”
“It’s my Uncle Etienne’s village,” Purdy said.
“No shit?”
“No shit, Sarge.”
“So where exactly do you come from, kid?”
“Village about ninety klicks south of here,” Purdy said. “On a branch of the slough that goes through Etienne’s village. Catfish don’t like it this far downstream. Little nessies get them. We bring our catches down five, six times a year to trade for salt-water stuff.”
“I will be dipped in shit. Okay, Purdy, what do they talk down in that village?”
“Cooney.”
“What’s that?”
Purdy cut loose with a string of musical but unintelligible words. He grinned. “It’s more like Anglic than you think.”
“Has to be more like it than I think,” Corporal Tandon muttered.
“You really speak that stuff?” Miscowsky looked skeptical.
“Sure. Grew up with it.”
“So how’d you learn real talk?” Tandon asked.
“From my mother. Most of us out here speak some Anglic.” He coughed. “Spare some of that hot water, Sarge?”
“Sure.” Miscowsky poured the last of the water from the tiny kettle and started dismantling the mini-stove. “Okay, trooper. Looks like we’re in your territory. Lead off?”
“Sure, Sarge!” Purdy finished his tea while the others shouldered their packs and struck the basha. Then he moved noiselessly into the thick jungle. In seconds he had disappeared.
“Jesus Christ,” Tandon said. “Sarge, that kid’s all right.”
“Yeah.”
XVI
Ann Chang stared out the window of her office at Government House, then back at her computer screen. The request was still there, and it was routine enough; but who the hell was Geoffrey Niles, and why was he asking permission to hunt a dinosaur? Actually, the why wasn’t a problem; Governor Blaine’s new regulations required his personal approval of every license to kill or capture one of the huge saurians that inhabited Tanith’s northeastern island complex. Ann thought Blaine was carrying environmentalism a bit far, because all the reports showed there were plenty of dinosaurs; but it wasn’t a burdensome regulation because there were so few would-be hunters these days.
But who was Geoffrey Niles? And where was he? A search through the Customs and Immigration files showed no sign that he had ever landed on Tanith.
She looked at the entry again. The Honorable Geoffrey Niles, Wimbledon, Surrey, United Kingdom, Earth; local address care of Amalgamated Foundries, Ltd. She didn’t have to look that one up. AF was a conglomerate that dealt mostly in chemicals. Most of their operations were in Dagon; mining, and processing of Tanith fauna. If they still owned foundries, they didn’t advertise it. Certainly there were none on Tanith.
Why would a Geoffrey Niles, who apparently had never landed on Tanith in the first place, give AF as an address? The computer wouldn’t know, but it couldn’t hurt to see what data they had. She keyed in the company name, waited for the screen to fill with the usual trivia, and typed in the code for details.
RESTRICTED DATA.
What the hell? She typed in her own access code.
RESTRICTED DATA.
That does it, she thought. She entered Carleton Blaine’s override code.
AMALGAMATED FOUNDRIES, LTD. CHAIRMAN AND CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER LORD HARVEY NILES, SURREY, UNITED KINGDOM, EARTH. WHOLLY OWNED SUBSIDIARY OF CONSOLIDATED EUGENICS, INC. OUTSTANDING SHARES ZERO. ESTIMATED WORTH: UNEVALUTED.
There followed several pages of listed assets. Warehouses, chemical processing plants. A drug store chain in North America. An item at the bottom of the third screenful caught her eye. Amalgamated Foundries, Ltd. owned three interstellar class merchant ships.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” she muttered, and typed again.
DATA DETAILS CONSOLIDATED EUGENICS.
RESTRICTED DATA.
OVERRIDE BLAINE 124C41 + HUGO.
WHOLLY OWNED SUBSIDIARY OF BRONSON AND TYNDALL CONSTRUCTION ENTERPRISES, INC . . .
Fine, she thought. Which probably makes The Honorable Geoffrey Niles a twig on the old Bronson family tree. And still doesn’t explain why he wants a dinosaur license. Why ask for one unless he’s on Tanith? Only he’s not on Tanith. In orbit, maybe? But then he’d have turned up on the Customs list, and that showed no new traffic since last week’s visit by the CoDominium warship.
Ann frowned and touched more keys.
AIR/SPACE TRAFFIC CONTROL.
ONLINE.
HOW MANY SHIPS IN ORBIT NOW?
ONE.
SHIP NAME.
FILE NOT FOUND.
OVERRIDE BLAINE 124C41 + HUGO.
FILE NOT FOUND.
That made no sense at all. Still frowning, she clicked back to the Amalgamated Foundries data window and called up more details. Of the company’s three ships, two were noted as being on scheduled runs. The third was CDMS Norton Star.
Not likely. But—Ann touched buttons on the speakerphone. Government House had once had vidphones, but Tanith’s climate had long since sent them to the scrap bin.
“Air/Space Commissioner’s Office.”
“Chief Administrator Chang here. Deputy Commissioner Paulik, please.” A moment later she was put through to him. “Hello, Don. It’s Ann. Quick question for you. The Governor has friends aboard the Norton Star. Everything all right up there?”
“Sure is.” Her speakerphone deepened his familiar reedy voice. “Amalgamated chartered one of our landing boats to send up supplies just this morning. Rather a lot of stuff, actually. Looks like they’re planning to be there a while.”
“Ah. Thanks. Don, there’s something screwy with my data system this morning. I can’t seem to find their landing request.”
“Oh? Hold on a moment. Yes, here it is. They’ve got a standby for a remote-area water landing. Location to be named later. Seems a bit unusual . . . Are you sure you don’t have it, Ann? It looks like it was approved by your office.”
“Oh, I’m sure it was,” she said. Just what is our fearless leader up to? And why didn’t he tell me about it? I could have upset his plans— “Just to help me sort this out, who does it say approved the request?”
“It says here that Everett did.”
Everett. Everett Mardon. Her son-in-law. “Oh. Thanks.”
“Look, Ann, there’s nothing irregular about this, is there?”
“No, I’m sure it’s all in order. Thanks, Don. Will we see you at the Lederle party next week?”
“Sure thing. Bye, Chief.”
Her hand trembled slightly as she turned off the speakerphone.
“Good work, boss.”
She turned, startled. “Everett—”
“Let’s take a break, Ann. You look like you could use one.”
“Everett, what the hell’s going on?”
He came around her desk and put his hand on her shoulder. “Like I said. You need a break. Let’s take a walk.”
* * *
She waited until they were outside Government House and halfway across the square. “All right, Ev,” she said. “What’s this all about, and why would the governor tell you and not me?”
“Governor—oh. Ann, Governor Blaine doesn’t know anything about this. He can’t find out, either.”
“What?” She stopped, then turned and started back toward the building. Everett reached out and caught her by the sleeve.
“Really, Ann. Stop a minute and listen.”
“No.” She jerked her sleeve free and faced him. “Listen, Ev. Whatever you’ve done to my database access, you fix it, and now. Then I’ll try to keep the governor from firing you.”