Thirty five - ELGIRON

Fort Camerone squatted on the dry, rocky plain, and, with the exception of the missile launchers, antenna arrays, and fly form landing pads that broke its hard, angular lines, looking a lot like the godforsaken outposts the Legion had occupied in North Africa, centuries before.

General Maltese Kairo low-crawled forward, used his elbows for support, and brought the binoculars up to his eyes. A motor whirred, and the outskirts of the ever expanding slum known as Naa Town, swam into focus.

The shanty town consisted of hundreds of makeshift earthen domes, each reinforced with whatever chunk of metal or plastic that the occupants could beg, borrow, or steal.

The officer panned from left to right. Data rippled down from the right side of the screen. Range, albedo, and more. None of it mattered. What did matter was the fact that smoke dribbled out of only half the chimneys, very little laundry had been hung to dry, and the narrow, twisting streets were practically deserted.