Timothy Zahn: Spinneret

"Got it, sir. I recommend you hurry with those reinforcements. "

"Noted. Out."

Almost savagely, Meredith yanked the throttle back to full power.

Reinforcements, my eye, he thought as the boat leaped forward. What Dunlop needed was a negotiating team—and that was precisely what he was going to get.

Preferably one whose members spoke at least halfway fluent Spanish. First the flyer crash, and now this. Murphy's Law is really riding high today.

Raising his phone, be keyed for Lieutenant Andrews and began giving orders.

"Three to an apartment, we got—sometimes even four," Matro Rodriguez's bullfrog voice bellowed out, clearly audible even over the other shouts and the loud background muttering of the crowd. Standing to one side, Cristobal Perez alternately gave his attention to the mob and to the squat adobe building they faced. The building's windows were empty of official faces, but Perez knew they were watching. Sooner or later they would decide they'd been under siege long enough and do something about it. Idiots, he thought, his eyes flicking back to the crowd, watching as some of the men began waving clenched fists over their heads.

All they're going to do is get the major's back up and force him to take action.

They had as yet no real economic power and certainly no political power. All they had was numbers and the threat of violence, and that only worked if those in authority were hesitant about shooting. The soldiers, Perez knew, would be under no such handicap.

A flicker from one of the dark windows caught Perez's eye: someone moving up to what could only be firing position. Cursing under his breath, Perez stepped forward, heading for the front of the crowd. He'd hoped Dunlop would hold off a while longer, give the mob time to blow off their steam and maybe leave peacefully. But moving troops to the windows could only mean he'd decided to have it out right now.

Nobody seemed to notice Perez as he strode to Rodriguez's side directly opposite the admin building's door; only a few looked quizzically at him as he raised his hand for quiet. "Friends!" he called … but his voice didn't have anything like Rodriguez's carrying power. He was inhaling for a second try when, as if by delayed action, an expectant hush swept up the hubbub.

Turning, he found himself practically nose to nose with Major Dunlop.

The major opened his mouth to speak—but Perez had always been fast on the uptake and managed to beat Dunlop to the verbal draw. "Good afternoon, Major," he said, managing to put both respect and righteous displeasure into his voice.

"We would like to have some words with you about the conditions—"

"All right, you lazy troublemakers," Dunlop bellowed without even looking at Perez, "you've got exactly thirty seconds to clear out of here and get back to your jobs. After that you'll wish you had. Now move!"

His answer was a cloudburst of angry shouts and a sudden surging forth of the mob. "Wait a minute!" Perez shouted—but his voice blended with all the others and was lost … and an instant later his body jerked with agony and numbness and the world tilted crazily and went dark.

"Is this," Meredith asked icily, "your idea of staying put?"

Standing with the stiffness of a sentry at the admin building door, the marks of dragged bodies still visible in the dust around him, Dunlop nevertheless wasn't giving an inch. "I went out to talk as you suggested. Colonel. The mob moved forward, and my men opened fire in my defense. Frankly, sir, I don't see the problem. We only had to stun a few of them before the rest dispersed, and they'll think twice about starting trouble now."

" 'The problem,' as you call it, we'll discuss later," Meredith said, working hard to keep the fury out of his voice. He had no desire to tear Dunlop apart in front of junior officers, but that resolve was fading fast. "Now, where's this person you arrested and what makes you think he was one of the leaders?"

"His name is Cristobal Perez, one of the field workers. He was in the front of the mob and led the move forward."

"I want to talk to him."

"If you'd like—but I can tell you right now he's not very cooperative. We're holding him in one of the offices in back."

"All right." Meredith glanced once more at the scuffle marks on the ground and gestured Andrews to his side. "I want you and the others to locate and get statements from all the soldiers who were involved in this. Make it clear we aren't out for scalps, just information. When you finish with them, look up any civilian witnesses or participants and repeat."

"Yes, sir," the aide nodded. "Do you want any of the Spanish speakers to stay with you?"

"Probably should. Who's best?"

"Carmen Olivero," Andrews said, gesturing to the attractive woman standing quietly among the uniformed men. The only one among them in civilian dress … on a hunch, Meredith nodded.

"Miss Olivero, come with me. Let's go, Major."

Dunlop led them inside and down a couple of corridors to a door flanked by two stunner-carrying soldiers. The guards came to attention; without bothering to knock, Dunlop opened the door and went in.

Cristobal Perez was stretched out on his back on the floor in front of the desk, a wadded-up jacket serving as makeshift pillow. About twenty-five or twenty-six, Meredith automatically estimated, his face already showing the first signs of a lifetime out under the sun. His eyes, which had been shut, opened briefly to survey the newcomers and then closed again. "I don't suppose you brought a doctor this time," he said tiredly.

"All you need is rest," Dunlop told him. "The effects'll wear off in another hour or so. On your feet now—Colonel Meredith has some questions."

"Colonel Meredith, eh?" Perez made no move to get up, but his eyes opened again, shifting from Meredith to Carmen and back. "You always let men in your command fire on unarmed civilians, Colonel?"

"Be thankful they were only using stunners," Meredith countered, watching the other's face closely. "Other mob control methods are just as uncomfortable and usually take longer to go away."

A flash of anger swept Perez's face at the word mob: but instead of the verbal explosion Meredith had expected, the Hispanic seemed to withdraw behind a stony mask. "You obviously haven't been shot by one of the damn things," he said, closing his eyes again.

"No. But I have been shot with real bullets. How about telling me what happened out there?"

"My word against Dunlop's? No, thanks—my breath's too valuable to waste just now."

Meredith pursed his lips. "If you tell the truth—"

"Look, Colonel, I was in the Army a couple of years," Perez interrupted. "I know how military people stick together. You just go ahead and figure out my sentence and we can skip the show of impartiality."

"Perez—" Dunlop began.

"No, it's all right, Major," Meredith cut his subordinate off, mentally berating his own carelessness. His deliberately tactless choice of words had forced a reaction out of Perez, all right, but driving the other into silence was a result he hadn't counted on. A strategic withdrawal was in order. "Perez, whenever you're ready to talk, just let me know." He opened the door and left, Dunlop and Carmen behind him.

"I told you he wasn't very cooperative," Dunlop commented as the three of them stopped a few meters down the hall.

"Uh-huh. What sort of charges have you filed against him?"

"Incitement, congregation with felony intent—a couple other minor charges.

Object lesson stuff, mostly."

"I want them dropped. Miss Olivero—"

"All of them?" Dunlop looked nonplussed.

"That's right. What's the problem?—If my investigation indicates he's guilty of something, we can always charge him later. It isn't like he can skip town or something. Miss Olivero, I want you to go back in there and talk to Perez."