Tuning William - Fuzzy Bones

"Makes sense," Holloway said. "Look, when you get them, tell them I'm returning. I'm the Commissioner; that's where I belong. And tell them I'm going to raise George Lunt-see how many men he can send up. It's his jurisdiction as the ZNPF head cop."

The Rev walked unsteadily into the dispensary at his own mission and sat down heavily in a chair at the nurse's station. There was blood on his face and he felt as though every bone in his body had been broken.

The evening nurse, a volunteer in street clothes, dropped the stack of files she was moving from one desk to another. They went skittering and sliding across the floor in a jumble of forms. "Father Gordon!" she said. "Are you all right? You look like you'd been trampled by a veldbeest stampede."

The Rev managed a smile. "I was," he said.

She keyed the automatic page that summoned the doctor. She brought a wet cloth to the chair. "Let's get that cleaned up and see what else we have, here," she said.

"Double vision," The Rev said, shaking his head vigorously. "Funny. I usually don't get that till the next morning."

"Jack, they haven't got a chance," George Lunt said over the screen. "They're going up against three companies of trained troops."

"I'm sure the thought never crossed their mind, George," Holloway said. "This is a mob. A mob never thinks; it just charges like a damnthing. By being totally unaware that they don't have a chance, they just might make it. You see?"

George nodded. "I'm afraid I do," he said. "I've seen it work. Okay. I'll round up as many men as we can spare without leaving ourselves wide open down here. If there are as many variable unknowns as you say, we may have to fight at Holloway Station. People seem to identify you with sunstones, you know."

Stephen Aelborg had just finished delivering his situation estimate to the meeting. As Intelligence Officer he was naturally cautious, but had to admit that for thirty minutes' notice, it wasn't too bad.

"Gentlemen," Napier said, "we have a still-developing set of actions here. It remains in a fluid state, not yet fully formed. Therefore we want to keep our ability to respond flexible but quick. Another thing we have to consider is the lag-fac between decisions we make here and the travel time needed to put troops on the ground on Zarathustra."

Helton had noticed Greibenfeld look at him in an odd way when Napier used the term "gentlemen." He was amused, but made a mental note not to trust Greibenfeld any more than was absolutely necessary.

Napier turned to Helton. "Gunnie," he said, "what is your evaluation of the First Battalion in terms of weapons and readiness?"

Helton felt his ears flush slightly. He got to his feet. "First rate, Commodore," he said, and proceeded to concisely outline his views.

When Helton sat down again, O'Bannon realized-and felt slightly foolish about it-that he had been holding his breath. Quietly, he exhaled.

"Good," Napier said. "I still want the balance of the Second Battalion loaded aboard the San Pablo. Even if the First won't be needing any hand-holding, I'd feel better about having additional men on the surface. Ops will alert another suitable vessel, and the Third will board it and remain there for further orders."

McGraw's Exec was making notes.

The Operations Officer paused, his pencil above his own notes. "Do you plan to intervene, again?" Carl Johnsen asked.

"Emphatically not," Napier said. "Only in the case of the most extreme emergency or at a request for assistance from the Colonial Government. It's something that has to be planned for, in any event, although the very thought of it gives me the willies. I don't want to infringe on First Battalion 's operation, but I don't want to leave them out on a limb. The doctrine that applies here, gentlemen, is one of minimums-minimum show of troops-minimum show of force-and minimum application of force. If the colonial population gets the idea that we're going to step in every time there's a fist fight on Zarathustra, they never will get around to forming a completed government.

They'll just look up at Xerxes when the going gets a little rough, sit down, and wait for us to tell them what to do. That's not the kind of attitude that colonized all these worlds in the first place, and I refuse to foster it."

Chapter 43

Jack Holloway stood, with his feet slightly apart and his hands on his hips, puffing his short pipe and looking eastward. He had given his rifle-he was carrying his 6-mm Sleeker in the airboat-a part-way takedown and cleaning.

Have to tear that thing down to the last screw and really go over it. Someday soon. Time. Time. Never enough of it these days. That's all he wanted when he came out to Cold Creek Canyon-time by himself. Funny how you never got what you wanted when you searched for it; only when you stopped and let it find you.

Nothing to do now but wait. Everything that could be done was already done. He liked the way Stagwell had laid out his forces; it showed a businesslike knowledge backed up by experience-same kind of attitude that let Helton calmly blow in that tunnel face without knowing what, or how much of it, was on the other side. Holloway chuckled in the back of his throat. He particularly liked the idea with the riflemen on the bench at the north end of the site; a separate group of sharpshooters made up of picked marksmen from each company, placed at an elevation from the rest of the area.

Stagwell came up beside him, his boots blowing up little puffs of dust ahead of the toe. "Anything?" he asked.

Holloway shook his head.

"How soon, do you think?" he asked.

"Can't say," Holloway replied, keeping his gaze on the horizon. "Depends on how fast they're going and whether they really know where we are. They may not have a definite course. If they just cast about till they find the valley it could be quite a while."

Stagwell nodded, sighed, and was silent for a moment. "By the way, Mr.

Commissioner-" he began.

"Jack," Hollo way said.

"Jack," Stag well corrected himself. "I 've been meaning to ask what your tobacco is."

-OLDTEHRAN CUT," Holloway said. He jerked a thumb to his right. "But they grow it down on South Beta."

"Can I get it in Red Hill?" Stag well asked.

Holloway nodded. "I get it from Walt Davis. Got a little gun store and tobacco shop there."

"Mmmmmm," Stagwell said. "I'd like to pick some up before we leave."

"Try some of mine, first," Holloway said, handing him the pouch without taking his gaze from the horizon. "If you like it I'll bring you a big tin on my next trip up."

"Thanks," Stagwell said, digging out his pipe.

Several minutes passed without conversation. Then, Holloway pointed to the east, where a little gob of light was coming over the horizon. "I think that's company, coming to call," he said.

Presently, the light separated into several, then separated again-and once again-until it was a cloud of lights, each one indicating a separate vehicle in the mob that had gotten out of Mallorysport.

Stagwell turned and looked over his shoulder. "Sergeant Major Miller!" he said.

The battalion sergeant major appeared out of the darkness. "Sir,"he said.

"Pass the word to look sharp," Stagwell said. "They're almost here."

"Yes, sir," Miller said. He sat down on the housing cover of a nearby vehicle and began talking to net control, his voice relayed throughout the tactical position on pocket radios like the one he was using. "All right, jarheads; get both eyes open. They're coming in. Don't get enthusiastic. First man fires without orders, I '11 have him up on battalion punishment and cut a stripe off him. Remember, these are civilians, but they're a little dockered out ..."

Five minutes later, the air cars and scows began to land in a ragged, jumbled disorder about seventy meters from the line Stagwell had established.