The Lotus Eaters

we—Seventh Legion, I mean—got orders to secure the town. We're doing that.'

A look of nervous and apprehensive puzzlement crossed the centurion's face. He leaned forward and lowered his voice, as he spoke to his younger cousin. 'Manuel,' he said, 'this stinks and if I were you I'd start looking around to find the source of the stench.'

'All right,' the signifier agreed, 'just as soon as we shut down the station. Which, now that you mention it, stinks, too.'

Bridge of the Colombias, Balboa, Terra Nova

The lieutenant of the Gallic Twentieth Infanterie Mecanisee, out of Fort Muddville, was doing what lieutenants do; running around like a headless chicken trying to put each combat vehicle in his platoon into exactly the right position. On the other side of the bridge a different platoon was doing the same. The company's third platoon was on the other side of the broad water, acting as a combat outpost of sorts.

Centurion Garza wasn't the only one puzzled by the ongoing events. A grizzled Gallic non-com told the lieutenant, 'Sir, I don't like this a bit. There's a coup going on; we all understand that. But we got orders to move and secure this bridge long before that started. So we're in on it; the general is, anyway.'

'Logical, so far, Adjudant,' the lieutenant agreed, momentarily ceasing his useless clucking about.

'Well, sir, there's nobody around us—nobody friendly, I mean. There's a heavy division to the east of us that is definitely not friendly, and at least two Balboan infantry divisions—legions, I mean—behind us, and maybe closer to five, not including their Tenth Artillery Legion.'

'Yes, so?'

'If that coup doesn't work, sir, we're at the bottom of an artillery funnel.'

The lieutenant looked momentarily nonplused. 'What do you recommend, then, Adjudant?'

'For starters, sir, let me worry about setting up this blocking position. Meanwhile, you should get over the map and get on the radio and figure out a way for us to get the hell out of here if things turn to shit.'

'As my father, the general, often said, Adjudant, the good officer listens carefully to his sergeants' mess.'

'Wise man, your father.'

BdL San Agustin, Chepo River, Balboa

The boat was anchored as close to the bank as it could go without grounding itself. Chief Castro, not content with getting Lourdes to the coast, had motored upriver to bring her nearly a third of the way to Fort Cameron and the Volgan Tercio. He'd have gone further still but for two factors: This was as close as the road got, because a bridge crossed the river her and the bridge itself was built on pylons too close together to permit the width of the patrol boat to pass. Overhead, just off of the abutment, a single flashlight signaled three times.

'Is this wise?' Lourdes asked, with only the lightest nervous tremor in her voice. 'How do you know it's your brother in law driving the taxi?' Automatically, she had ducked all but her head low behind the frame of the boat's cockpit.

'We both went to Cazador School,' the boat's skipper explained, flashing a light of his own three times as well. 'Though he's infantry, the poor benighted bastard. That's a common recognition signal we agreed to over the radio.'

'Oh. Okay. And now.'

'And now we're going over the side. Let me go first and help you down.'

Lourdes waited until the chief had splashed over the side and called out to her.

For a moment she didn't know what to do. She'd never exited a boat except by dock or by dive. And diving in this jungle-shrouded blackness, into the muddy river, seemed like one of those really bad ideas.

Castro understood her problem instinctively. 'Lay down on the gunwale . . . the top of the side wall, and slide your legs and rear over,' he ordered. 'I'll catch your legs and help you down.'

'Oh, okay.' She did as directed, except that she almost screamed when the chief lowered her and the chill water went up to her breasts. Under the circumstances, she didn't complain that Castro had had to get a pretty good grip on her rear end, at one point, to keep her from going in sideways.

Not that I didn't appreciate the opportunity, the chief thought to himself.

'Come on,' he told her, tugging her through the water and up the muddy bank. The chief stopped only once, to step on and smash an antania's head that made a lunge for Lourdes' booted ankle.

Quick introduction were made at the taxi. Then Lourdes, Castro, and the brother in law, Reyes, sped up the road to the south, heading for Fort Cameron.

Building 59, Fort Muddville, Balboa Transitway Area

Having furiously bullied his way past guards and functionaries, Ambassador Wallis burst into Janier's office without warning or escort. 'Janier, you frog bastard,' he said, most undiplomatically, 'what the fuck do you think you're doing?'

The TU's ambassador to the Republic of Balboa was likewise present, in itself something suspicious. He attempted to rise and object before Wallis' pointed finger pinned him morally to his chair. 'And you, shut up.'

Janier smiled, knowingly and condescendingly. 'I, Mr. Ambassador? Why I am doing