“Why two Why not one, three, or fifty?”
“There is no mention of what the old ones were thinking.”
“But why keep such weapons secret?” Andragna demanded. “How can the church justify such a thing?”
Bricana’s eyes met his. “There has been no need—not until now.”
It was the answer he might have expected from the priesthood, more than a little arrogant, and completely unapologetic.
Both were silent for a moment. The naval officer was first to speak. “This changes everything.”
“Yes,” the high priestess replied, “I think it does.”
Chapter 12
Napoleon I
Maxims of War
Standard year 1831
Planet Arballa, the Confederacy of Sentient Beings
The Friendship’s sick bay smelted of disinfectants, plastic, and the faint odor of coffee that emanated from the much abused pot that crouched on a counter. General William Booly sat in Treatment Room 4. He was stripped to die waist. The medic, who happened to be female, grabbed a handle and directed the overhead light onto his torso. She couldn’t help but notice the breadth of his shoulders, the muscular arms, the ridge of fur that ran the length of his spine. There were scars, too, some old, and some newly healed. The latter came courtesy of a planet named Drang. Most were what they appeared to be, but the blister looked suspicious. The medic pointed toward the carefully draped Mayo stand. “Place your arm on that. General.”
Booly did as he was told. “I have a meeting in ten minutes or so.”
The tech passed a scanner over his forearm, nodded in response to the reading, and returned the device to its holster. “Well, it’s your call. sir, but it appears as though a footlong parasitic worm has taken up residence in your right arm. The good news is that she wants to come out and lay her eggs. We can help her—or you can attend that meeting. Which will it be?”
The medic was something of a smartass, but Booly knew she was right. He growled, “Go ahead,” and watched her prep his arm. He had lifted from Drang a good four weeks earlier but been so busy stitching the Confederacy’s command structure together that he barely found time to sleep, much less worry about a rash. But that was before the rash turned into a blister, which not only hurt but itched like crazy.
“I could squirt some local in there,” the medic said cheerfully, “but the pain will be equivalent to a small incision. What’s your preference? Local or no local?”
“Skip the local,” Booly replied grimly. “Just get on with it.”
“Yes, sir,” the rating answered evenly. “Here goes ...”
She squinted her eyes, brought the blade down onto the surface of his skin, and cut a cross into the blister. Yellowish fluid jetted out followed by a small white head. It had tiny jet black eyes. The worm looked from left to right,
The tech had been waiting for that moment and was quick to seize the parasite with some forceps.
“Gotcha! Now, this is the difficult part,” she cautioned, “some people pull too hard. That’s when the head comes off... Makes for a nasty infection plus minor surgery. The trick is to wind the little bastard around a probe and reel his ass in.”
Booly watched in queasy fascination as the young woman pulled inch after nauseating inch of worm out of his arm. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she was finished. Then, with the parasite twisting and turning at the bottom of a kidney basin, it was time to disinfect the wound, close the incision, and apply a self-sealing dressing. “There you are, sir. good to go.”
Booty thanked the tech, donned his shirt, and look one last look at the worm. It squirmed every which way. Kind of like the politicians he was about to deal with. His smile lasted all the way out into the corridor.
Senator Omo was angry, very angry, as he entered the conference room, saw that he was first to arrive, and located the Ramanthian-style chair. A quick check revealed that the back adjustment was broken. It sometimes
