"But he didn't see..." Lourdes began before stopping herself. "Oh, I see. That makes it worse, doesn't it?"

McNamara nodded, sadly. Hmmm. I wonder what might make it better. Hmmm. I wonder what might make it better. He looked once, intently, into Lourdes' huge brown eyes, measuring her. Then he looked upstairs in the direction of Carrera's quarters and back again at the girl. He looked once, intently, into Lourdes' huge brown eyes, measuring her. Then he looked upstairs in the direction of Carrera's quarters and back again at the girl.

She looked back, eyes narrowing inquisitively. Do you really think that would help? Do you really think that would help?

The sergeant major's unspoken answer was, How could it hurt? How could it hurt?

Fl.u.s.tered and not a little embarra.s.sed, Lourdes went to the bar and poured herself a stiff drink. This was very rare for her. She then left the "Dayroom" and went to her own room. Undressing and lying down atop the covers with her head propped on pillows, she sipped at her drink and asked herself, How could it hurt? How could it hurt?

She lay that way for half an hour, thinking, sipping, wondering, sipping...perhaps even daydreaming. Then she arose, pulled a robe around her, and walked to Carrera's room.

She didn't knock. She just put her hand on the doork.n.o.b and, after a moment's nervous hesitation, turned it and pushed the door open. Enough moonlight entered through the windows to the room that she could make out Carrera laying on his side, his body shaking.

Walking as quietly as possible she moved to stand beside the wide bed. Then she took off her robe, letting it cascade to the floor around her feet. Her undergarments followed quickly. Again she hesitated, but only very briefly, before pulling the bed clothes down and climbing in behind Carrera, sliding between the sheets to mould her body to his back. She slid one arm around the still-shuddering form and whispered, "There...there...it'll be all right. Sleep..."

She felt his body spin inside the grasp of her arm. Suddenly her lips and face were being covered with kisses, hands reaching out, stroking...grasping...squeezing. Fingers probed, not always gently. She felt herself growing wet and warm. Soon too soon, perhaps she found herself on her back with her legs spread and Carrera hovering over. She smelled whiskey strong on his breath.

"Patricio...slowly...please," she gasped, "I've never...ooowww!"

She bit her lip to keep from crying out any louder. And then the strangeness of having someone inside her, thrusting, moving, took over. This was following by a spreading warmth, a sort of glow that seemed to begin between her legs and spread to every distant part of her body. She found herself thrusting back. Hard.

"Lay...on...me," she grunted. "I want...to...feel the weight...of your...body...on me."

She felt the strange thing inside her begin to pulse and throb. It grew as the thrusting increased in depth and force. Carrera whispered, "Oh, Linda...I.... love...you."

Lourdes stopped pushing back and began to cry even as Carrera's body, spent, slumped onto hers. The snoring that soon followed suggested he had never really been awake.

Interlude

2 October, 2067, UNSS Kofi Annan, alongside Colonization Ship Cheng Ho A careful count of the bodies aboard ship revealed that twenty-nine people were missing, all of them either Atheist, Christian, Buddhist or Hindu. They, and the missing shuttle, must have gone below as neither radar nor lidar showed the slightest trace of the shuttle in the solar system. There was no distress signal from the shuttle. The technical manual said that the batteries should have lasted for decades. If the ship had not crashed, someone had deliberately turned the signal off.

The Annan Annan's shuttles began looking. They were few and the planet was not small. It wasn't made any easier by the fact that the survivors had landed the shuttle in a forest glade.

The continent was in the southern hemisphere of the planet. It stretched nearly ten thousand miles, east to west. On the eastern end, several geographic projections made it look something like a bull, laying on its back, with an erection. The crew named this portion of the continent "Taurus" because of that resemblance.

To the west, the continent was mostly flat, open gra.s.slands with occasional forests and marshes, and some impressive mountain ranges near the equator. The gra.s.slands disappeared to the east, giving way to thick virgin woods with some open areas.

Moving west to east on a sweep, Annan Annan's Shuttle Number Three caught a glimpse of a flash that was unlikely to have been natural. It moved closer to investigate, finally coming to a landing a few hundred meters from the crash site.

Major Ridilla happened to be aboard that shuttle and was the first to set his feet on the ground. He wore an environmental suit, but without armor, and carried a modern rifle. Neither, as it turned out, were needed. The people, and they were less than the twenty-nine missing names even with the babies and young children, came out wearing badly tanned skins, thin to the point of emaciation, and ever so grateful to be rescued.

"We thought Earth had forgotten about us," their leader said. She might once have been pretty, with her high cheekbones and off-white skin with just the hint of Vedic smokiness lying below the surface. But she was a woman aged far beyond her years. "We thought we'd die here." She looked skyward. "Then again, we thought we'd die up there. I'm Marjorie Billings-Rajamana," she said, putting out her hand.

She had a very nice, upper cla.s.s British accent. Well, of course if anyone's going to survive and keep people alive that person would have a British accent Well, of course if anyone's going to survive and keep people alive that person would have a British accent, Ridilla thought. I mean...tradition and all. I mean...tradition and all.

"What happened," he asked, taking the hand and shaking it. "What happened on the Cheng Ho Cheng Ho?"

"That's a long story," the woman answered. "And you'd better give me something to drink, something strong strong to drink, if you want to hear it." to drink, if you want to hear it."

a.s.suming that the presence of people meant the absence of disease, Ridilla removed the helmet of his enviro-suit. "I'm sorry, I don't have anything like that with me. There's some on the ship. You do do want to go home, don't you?" want to go home, don't you?"

In answer, the woman laughed. Years fell away from her face, as if she had, perhaps, not laughed in all those years. She asked, "Who do I have to blow? If I never see this miserable place again it will still be too soon."

Chapter Fourteen.

Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, In every gesture dignity and love.-Milton, Paradise Lost Paradise Lost

Casa Linda, 15/7/460 AC Carrera's first words on awakening were, "My, that was a nice..."

He was never quite sure afterwards which it was that first informed him that he had not been dreaming. Was it the mattress slumped slightly with a another human being? The scent? Some half remembered details that were just too real to have been a dream? Or perhaps it was that all his dreams for months had been nightmares while the preceding night had definitely not not been a nightmare. been a nightmare.

How it would turn out, however...

"Lourdes?" he asked, uncertainly.

She sniffled, "Yes?"

Oh, s.h.i.t. What the h.e.l.l did I do? He asked her. He asked her.

"Last night," she answered, "while you were making love to me, you didn't even call out my my name. It was like I gave myself to you and it meant nothing." She began to cry in seriousness now. name. It was like I gave myself to you and it meant nothing." She began to cry in seriousness now.

He reached to her shoulder and pulled, rolling her over to face him. She resisted, initially, pulling her shoulder away. He was not, however, taking no for an answer. He gathered her in his arms and whispered, "It wasn't that. I was I'm sorry to say asleep. I don't sleep well, usually, but when I do I could sleep through a barrage. I have. Anyway, I'm really sorry. And I'll make it up to you, as best I can."

Lourdes said nothing. How someone was supposed to make up to her the ruination of what should have been the most special or perhaps the second most special even of her life was beyond her. She was angry, she was bitter. Above all, she was hurt.

Carrera continued on, despite her stony silence. "Frankly, Lourdes, I'm glad you came to me last night. Loneliness was killing me and you are...well...simply wonderful. Thank you."

Carrera backed off slightly to push her back onto her back. Then he proceeded to kiss her tears away and show her without any mistakes with names, this time that he meant what he said.

And perhaps, she thought, anger lessening, perhaps the hurt will go away if I let it. perhaps the hurt will go away if I let it.

Casa Linda, 27/6/460 AC Carrera, Sitnikov, and half a dozen other Volgan officers sat in the conference room in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the house. These half dozen Volgans had indicated that, while they could not, in good faith to their duties to the motherland, give up their Volgan citizenship, they were willing to stay on in Balboa under contract if they were wanted. They also represented another several dozen Volgans in the same straits. Another one hundred and twenty-one of the Volgan trainers had elected to take Legionary rank and eventual Balboan citizenship and getting the legislative a.s.sembly to approve that that had cost another series of bribes and to accompany the had cost another series of bribes and to accompany the Legio del Cid Legio del Cid to al Jahara and Sumer-or to al Jahara and Sumer-or wherever wherever, for that matter. Legionaries take their orders and march with them. But if these men, and those they represented, remained citizens of the Volgan Republic, they could not accompany the Legion to a war to which their country was not a party.

Carrera began, "Gentlemen, first of all let me say that I appreciate and respect your decision to remain true to the country of your birth. There is no shame in that. Your absence will be felt when the Legion leaves for the desert." Carrera pa.s.sed around gla.s.ses, scotch, and ice as he spoke.

"Nonetheless, you may, if you wish, still remain here in Balboa to work on a few special projects that I have in mind. If you decide to stay, your pay will be commensurate with the LdC pay for the ranks you now hold. I can arrange some longevity increases as you spend more time here, but you will be, for all practical purposes, frozen in your current ranks for the immediately foreseeable future. Can you accept this?"

Carrera looked at the Volgans' faces for a reaction. Seeing no negative indicators from them, he continued. "The second condition is that you must still take an oath to the LdC to give loyal and diligent service. This includes not divulging any of the nature of the work you will do to anyone, ever ever. This This includes divulging to the Volgan Republic. Can you accept that?" includes divulging to the Volgan Republic. Can you accept that?"

Still the Volgans gave no indication of objection. Indeed, since their whole way of life prior to this had involved the most stringent security procedures, they did not even consider any other possibility. As to whether they would honor those oaths...

Carrera thought, As if they could be trusted not to spill their guts once they go home. Still, my cautioning them As if they could be trusted not to spill their guts once they go home. Still, my cautioning them may may help make them feel they're part of the team and fully trusted. People are odd that way. help make them feel they're part of the team and fully trusted. People are odd that way.

Continuing, Carrera said, "Very well then. Colonel Sitnikov has decided to accept our offer of citizenship and equivalent rank. He will be in charge of you in my absence. I thank you for your decision to stay and help us. Dismissed."

When the rest of the Volgans had departed, Carrera explained to Sitnikov what it was he wanted done while the legion was gone. He had learned to trust this particular Volgan, implicitly, over the last half year.

"Aleksandr, there are a number of projects I want your people to work on over the next year or two. Probably two years."

Carrera stood up, walked to the railing of the porch, turned and leaned against it. He continued. "The first project involves the Isla Real. That's the big island in the Bay of Balboa. I want you, personally, to work out how to turn it into a major Initial Entry Training establishment capable of turning out up to thirty thousand trained privates a year, as well as the needed number of specialists, officers and non-coms to lead an army of about three hundred and fifty to three hundred and eighty thousand. I'll send someone over with the table of organization, equipment, and manning to guide you in your planning."

"I've already seen it in rough terms," Sitnikov said. "One of your people showed me. You really think you can turn this place into a nation-in-arms?"

"Maybe not," Carrera answered. "And maybe I won't need to. But it is certain that unless I plan for it, I won't be able to."

Sitnikov's head rocked from side to side, considering. It's true enough, I suppose. It's true enough, I suppose.

"Don't, repeat don't don't, try to build anything along those lines," Carrera continued. "I will want you to build, as the money becomes available, a less ambitious facility capable of turning out seventy-five hundred to eight thousand trained privates a year, with other specialty and leadership schools as required.

"Remember, though, all you can do is plan for now. Even to buy the island, or to get the government to condemn it through eminent domain, would cost about half a billion FSD, maybe more. I don't expect to have that kind of money until and unless I can work out a deal with the Feds to hire the legion.

"In any case, let me make this clear: the planning for the building of the smaller training facility is to be open, once we own the island. The plan for expanding it to the larger capacity is to be very close hold. Even more close hold, I want you to plan for turning the island into a genuine fortress, one capable of enduring air attack and defeating amphibious attack by any any possible enemy." possible enemy."

Sitnikov brushed a hand through thinning hair. Any enemy? Any enemy? he wondered. he wondered. Even the FSC? The Taurans? I wouldn't enjoy taking on the FSC, were it my fortress to command. But killing Sachsen and Gauls? Zhong? Be still, my heart. Even the FSC? The Taurans? I wouldn't enjoy taking on the FSC, were it my fortress to command. But killing Sachsen and Gauls? Zhong? Be still, my heart.

Sitnikov asked, "You think the others might report back even though they gave their words they will not?"

Carrera lowered his chin slightly, his eyes boring into Sitnikov as if the latter were a very dull schoolboy.

"Yes," Sitnikov admitted. "Well...I suppose so."

Carrera nodded and continued, "The next project is to plan to set up a major unit training center at Fort Cameron, something capable of training and testing units up to regimental size. We're going to cut you orders and get you a visa to visit the Federated States. I will also get the local FS attache to get you permission to visit their combat training centers in the states of Arcadia and Sequoia. I'll give you more guidance on this later. For now, just go and see how the FS Army does it. And be skeptical."

Carrera paused while Sitnikov wrote this down. He began to walk from one side of the porch to the other.

"Lastly, I want and in some ways this will be the most delicate work of all I want a plan for organizing six junior military academies in six locations I will give you later. I will get you a professor from the University of Balboa to help with the academic requirements. The purpose of these schools will be to provide the preliminary training for recruits to the legions yes I said, 'legions' as and when we can expand. I also want and this is critical for these schools to be able to defend themselves at need and attack within fifty kilometers or so of their positions. They must be able to exit the academies and move to attack positions without being detected.

"Aleksandr...whatever I said to those who decided against citizenship...I want you to arrange things so no one no one can put together a picture of what we're doing from the bits and pieces those men will work on. Not if the KVD and OSI each had a thousand years to question every one of those men." can put together a picture of what we're doing from the bits and pieces those men will work on. Not if the KVD and OSI each had a thousand years to question every one of those men."

"That will not be easy, sir. I will have to do everything but the most mundane things myself."

"So? Lourdes will be remaining here. She can be of great a.s.sistance to you. She's a very impressive woman, actually. Now, what are your questions?"

As if on cue, Lourdes smiling rather happily now stuck her head out the folding gla.s.s door to the rear porch and announced, "Patricio, I've got Senator Rodman on the phone as you requested."

"Excuse me for a moment, would you, Aleksandr?" Carrera asked as he stood to go to his office.

"Patrick, dear boy, how can I help you today?" Harriet Rodman asked brightly.

Carrera went right to it. "I need an appointment, two hours or so, with Ron Campos, SecWar."

"That a.s.shole? Whatever for? And why come to me?" a.s.shole? Whatever for? And why come to me?"

"I came to you because you can do it and because you are an honest politician." They both knew what Carrera meant by that. Once bought you stay bought. And I'm keeping up the mortgage my uncle and grandfather placed on you and your antecedents. Once bought you stay bought. And I'm keeping up the mortgage my uncle and grandfather placed on you and your antecedents.

He continued, "As for why him; I need his help with something. Actually, Harriet, come to think of it I really should bring you into it. You, after all, are concerned with loss of Federated States citizens' and soldiers' lives. You are pretty tight with a defense drachma. Yes...tell you what; I'll come up a day early and brief you. At dinner, say? Perhaps at the Army and Navy Club."

"No," Rodman answered. "Too public for both our purposes. Dinner at my place, okay? Use the back door. If we're conspiring, Patrick, let's conspire. conspire."

Hamilton, FD, 32/6/460 AC "You've been doing what what?" Rodman asked incredulously.

"Not 'been doing,' Harriet. Done. I have a large brigade, el Legio del Cid, el Legio del Cid, a non-governmental organization set up under the sponsorship of the government of the Republic of Balboa, organized, equipped and, a non-governmental organization set up under the sponsorship of the government of the Republic of Balboa, organized, equipped and, almost almost, trained to fight."

"You aren't serious," she insisted. "You think these people can actually fight? Come on."

Carrera resisted, almost successfully, the outrage that he naturally felt at anyone casting even the slightest aspersion on a unit he he practically speaking commanded. practically speaking commanded.

Harriet knew she had overstepped her bounds when Carrera's fingers began drumming the table rhythmically. His uncle used to do that when he was really annoyed His uncle used to do that when he was really annoyed, she thought.

"For your information, Senator," Carrera said in an icy voice, "The legion is fully equipped. It is not equipped up to FS standards but it is still very well equipped. The core of the leadership cadres have experience of combat, many of them have much experience of combat. Moreover the bulk of the legion's leaders have been brought up to speed for modern, combined arms warfare. The younger ones have as well. The troops..." and the iciness left his voice as he began to describe his men.

"Ah...they're just great. great. The minimum IQ is 110. There is no army in the world that can boast that. The average is above 115...closer to 120. In a place like Balboa, with fifty percent unemployment among young men, we could pick and choose, you see. There were about a hundred and eighty thousand unemployed young men. We only needed four thousand for now. They have been through courses of individual qualification as thorough and as rough as any in the world. They are almost frighteningly fit and healthy. They have been trained, the troops and leadership both, by some of the most combat experienced and capable trainers in the world. All they need is an extensive period of unit training, more for the commanders and staff than for the men. And that period is beginning even as we speak. The minimum IQ is 110. There is no army in the world that can boast that. The average is above 115...closer to 120. In a place like Balboa, with fifty percent unemployment among young men, we could pick and choose, you see. There were about a hundred and eighty thousand unemployed young men. We only needed four thousand for now. They have been through courses of individual qualification as thorough and as rough as any in the world. They are almost frighteningly fit and healthy. They have been trained, the troops and leadership both, by some of the most combat experienced and capable trainers in the world. All they need is an extensive period of unit training, more for the commanders and staff than for the men. And that period is beginning even as we speak.

"So yes, Senator, they'll be able to fight...by the end of the year. They can be deployed in al Jahara before the campaign begins."

Rodman shrugged. "All right. Suppose I buy that this legion of yours can or at least will be able to fight? What do you want with Campos?"

"I want him to hire us."

The War Department gave Carrera the w.i.l.l.i.e.s. He had always hated the place, from his first guided tour as an officer cadet to the last time he had set foot in it to tender his resignation. Everything about the comlex irked him, from the bloated staffs to the arrogant civilians to the military retirees who had sold their souls to defense contractors and made the place dangerous to walk with the slime trails they left behind them.

He loathed the decor. He loathed the special corridors set aside to pander to allies, most of whom had transformed themselves into albatrosses. He loathed the coffee shops and the pizza stands, the fast food malls and the shopping mall.

It was to him everything everything a military ought not be; an oversized, overstuffed monument to corporate bureaucracy. a military ought not be; an oversized, overstuffed monument to corporate bureaucracy.

"Secretary Campos will see you now, Mr. Hennessey."