Sparrow grinned, fed the specially programmed strip of "live" metal into the appropriate slot, and waited for the device to figure out which of the more than one hundred thousand possible shapes programmed into its memory would handle this particular lock. He had won the tool in a poker game, and used it ever since. Less than three seconds had elapsed when Marco heard a decisive click, saw the noncom turn the handle, and watched the door swing open.
The sentry, plus a couple of her buddies, were seated around the cooler sipping from cold bottles of beer. She went for her rifle, but Marco was quicker. "Sorry", the officer said, "but I'll take that. Finish the beer and report to the sergeant at arms when you're done".
The legionnaire were still sitting there, staring at the place where the officer had been, when the porters marched by. "Who the hell was that?" Private Joelle asked of no one in particular.
"That was your new commanding offic
There was a loud thump. Marco turned to find that his other ground pounder, Captain Simon Olmsted III, commanding officer of D Company, 2nd REP, was facedown on the table. A steady expanding red stain indicated where his wine had gone. No one seemed surprised. That spoke volumes... And Marco made a note.The next officer, Captain Gandhi NY, was something of a surprise. Given the fact that there was no way in hell that her ten-ton, tractorlike body was going to fit inside the mess, and the rest of the officers weren't likely to dine in her vast underground garage, the cyborg had elected to have her brain box delivered to the table.And not just delivered, but delivered on a silver tray, which Marco found to be vastly amusing. It spoke of style, courage, and a good sense of humor.NY's brain box, which was covered with a custom-tailored dress uniform, plus rows of decorations, was equipped with a vid cam as well. It whirred as it pann
Marco nodded and saluted in return. His voice made its way through a wire-thin boom mike and out over the PA system. "Thank you, Major. Put the troops at ease".Daniell did a perfect about-face, gave the appropriate order, and was rewarded with something less than perfection. The entire headquarters company seemed a little slow on the uptake, as if they hadn't drilled in quite a while, and the cyborgs, who backed the rest of the troops, made no move whatsoever. They'd been at ease from the start. Sloppiness? Or insolence? The first was regrettable, the second could be dangerous.Marco cleared his throat, brought the orders up in front of his face, and read them aloud. The language, though stilted and somewhat archaic, still possessed power. Not because of the words themselves, but because of the thousands who had both spoken and heard them. Some had gone on to live long, happy lives. Many had not. They lay buried beneath thick jungle foliage, under piles
Once recovered from the trauma of losing both the Pelocan and the drifter, Jyro found life on the Shem vessel to be unexpectedly serene. The days, as recorded as scratches in the ship's hull metal, seemed to drift by.For the first time in years the human found himself with plenty of time to think and reflect. In fact, had it not been for the certainty that he would eventually run out of food, the experience might have been rather pleasant.Jyro followed a self-imposed routine that provided a modicum of both structure and comfort. His body clock woke him at approximately 0800 each morning. Never one to lounge about, the prospector rolled out of his improvised bag and onto the cold metal deck. The calisthenics included thirty-five push ups, followed by thirty-five leg lifts, thirty-five sit-ups, and thirty-five additional push-ups.Once the exercises were complete, there were prayers to say, not the repetitious sort of nonsense favored by his father, but long, one-sided conv
The Vamoos ship was more than five hundred feet long and consisted of a ram scoop, some very complex separators, and six cylinders, each of which was divided into multiple tanks.As with all the Vamoos race, the intelligence who controlled the ship and served as its single crew member was known by his job description, a rather lengthy affair that filled the brains of no less than 107 nonsentient storage beings, but could be Summerized as: "The one who travels vast distances in search of materials required to repair, maintain, and further Vamoos infrastructure to the benefit of the race".The last part was especially important, since all activity was measured in terms of its usefulness to the race, and anything that failed to meet stringent criteria went unresourced.Still, as with most of his peers, the pilot had chosen an abbreviated identifier in the form of a two symbol poem: Far/Fetcher.But none is that was on the Vamoos' mind as he cruised the ocean of clou
It was dark, and the lights of Los Angeles looked like gems scattered on black velvet. Thousands of grav platforms, robolifts and aircars crisscrossed the local sky grid.No one paid any particular attention to the unmarked personnel carrier that rode a priority vector in from the east, dropped out of traffic, and landed on a high rise. Three men exited the aircraft. It was gone moments later.John Usmos shivered in the early morning air. His fatigues had the word "Prisoner" stenciled on the back, his hands were cuffed in front of him, and chains rattled at his feet. His excort consisted of two MPs, neither of whom was much of a conversationalist. The first, an individual whom John had christened "Dickhead", motioned toward a sudden rectangle of light. "Put your ass in gear, John - we haven't got all day".No "sir", no "please", just "put your ass in gear". But that's how it was for prisoners, especially those who were or had been officers.John e
Leshi Quinn nodded and glanced at the wall display. The steadily dwindling numbers indicated that only two hours and thirteen minutes remained until one of NI's subsidiaries would seize control of seventy two percent of the planet's voice, data, and video networks along with ninety four percent of the deep space com gear. "Yes, Governor, Zuon is ready, or will be at 0 600 hours local".Sandral nodded. "Excellent. And what of our allies?"Senator Vaano had left many days before in order to ensure that he would be seen on board the Kindred before the shit hit the fan. His job was to slow if not actually prevent response by the Confederacy.Ambassador Hardin Ishimoto-Seven was present, however, he was preparing to leave. He had bobbed his head. "My ship lifts within the hour. I will do everything I can to bring the Hegemony around".Sandral was well aware of the fact that Ishimoto-Seven lacked the full support of his government, but hoped he'd find the means to secure it. S
"If you think the wars ended fifty years ago, then think again. We continue to deal with rebellions, interplanetary disputes, and outlaw armies. The men, women, and cyborgs seen here were encouraged to fight for the Confederacy, only to be abandoned like so much trash".The camera cut back to her face. She looked angry and determined. "Well, not any more! Thanks to their courage and skill, we can still take this planet back."I will serve as governor until the emergency is over and elections can be held. Complete details concerning my staff, our military arm, and related matters can be found on the net. A series of programmes describing your responsibilities and privileges will be broadcast around the clock. Please take the time necessary to view them."Remember, there is no reason to panic. You, your homes, and your livelihood are intact. The only thing that has changed is your status as second-class citizens. You are free!"The politician adopted a somewh
Captain Tyson Salom broke the corner, saw two energy bolts whip through her peripheral vision, and felt Chief Grinnell jerk her back. "Bad idea, ma'am. They have this corridor sewn up. Where are we headed, anyway?"Salom was grateful for the "we". "The Admiral's cabin. Before they capture is kill him".Grinnell nodded. "Aye, aye, ma'am. Let's try 'B' Corridor".The naval officer followed the NCO back to a passageway labeled "Connector 10" and from there to Corridor "B". A rating raced by.The chief stuck his head around the corner, motioned for Salom to follow, and ran toward the stern. The Admiral's cabin was large enough to have entrances onto both "A" and "B" Corridors. They would enter from the "B" side if the hatch was open.Salom's mind started to race. There was so much to consider... And so much to do. Reach the admiral, secure the bridge, restore discipline. If only...A power tech stepped out of an access hatch, saw Gri