“Yes, sir!” Farnsworth replied cheerfully, and did a neat about-face.
Santana heard the whine of servos and turned to fi?nd Snyder looming over him. His helmet light wobbled up to her immobile face. “Is what they say true, sir? Does the major plan to leave us here?”
“I believe that was the major’s intent,” the platoon leader replied honestly. “But he’s missing. So, unless he turns up soon, I will be in command.”
“And you wouldn’t leave us, would you, sir?” the cyborg asked uncertainly.
“Are you kidding?” Santana demanded. “I’d have to walk! And you know how I feel about infantry regiments.”
Snyder made a deep rumbling sound that Santana knew to be laughter. And, because all of the T-2s could communicate with each other by radio, the rest of the cyborgs were aware of the XO’s comments within a matter of minutes.
Jas Hargo couldn’t smile. The cyborg simply wasn’t capable of doing so. But he felt a tremendous sense of satisfaction when the fi?nal word came down ten minutes later. DeCosta was missing, Santana had assumed command, and the bio bods were going to mount up.
The entire outfi?t was under way ten minutes later, minus Major Hal DeCosta that is, who lay about fi?fteen feet offshore with a 150-pound block of stone on his chest. His head, which had been torn off, rested fi?fty feet farther out. There were witnesses, of course, but none of them were sentient, or could ever be called upon to testify. They were hungry however—and eager to eat their fi?ll. PLANET ALGERON, THE CONFEDERACY OF SENTIENT BEINGS
Winter was almost over, so half of the underground storeroom was empty and would remain so until more bags of fl?our arrived in the fall. That meant there was plenty of space in which to have a meeting one level below the fl?oor where the bakery’s ancient ovens continued to produce bread for the citizens of Naa town.
With a single exception, all of those present in the room were Naa, and therefore uniformly suspicious of the blond man who sat below a dangling glow rod, his hands on his knees. His name was Sergi Chien-Chu, and while decidedly male, didn’t really think of himself as human anymore. Not since his brain had been removed from his dying body and installed in the fi?rst of what would eventually become a succession of cybernetic vehicles. The latest of which had been fashioned to resemble that of a twenty-fi?ve-year-old human male. “So, human,” the baker growled. “The entire council is here. Just as you requested.
Now tell me why we shouldn’t remove your head—and turn it in for the one-million-credit reward that the government is offering?”
“Because doing so would be messy,” Chien-Chu replied calmly. “Not to mention the fact that I’m still using it.”
Though town dwellers now, most of the council had been warriors once, and chuckled appreciatively. Although he was alone, and unarmed, the human wasn’t afraid. Or, if he was, had the ability to hide it. A truly Naa-like quality and one they admired. “But, more to the point,” the businessman continued, “I’m here because the Confederacy needs your help. President Nankool is alive, but being held by the Ramanthians, who don’t know they have him. By announcing that fact, Jakov may cause the president’s death, or provide the bugs with leverage they wouldn’t otherwise have, thereby threatening the Confederacy. And I believe that you have the power to stop it.”
“Surely you jest,” the local undertaker put in cynically. He had craggy features and black fur interspersed with streaks of white. His clothes were dark—and his boots were caked with mud. “President Nankool . . . President Jakov . . . It hardly matters to us. Back before the Confederacy came into existence, we were oppressed by the human empire. Now that the Confederacy exists, we are still oppressed. Nothing has changed.”
“That isn’t true,” Chien-Chu responded simply, and pointed up toward the glow rod that dangled above him.
“Where does the power for that light come from? What about the medical care the townspeople receive? And the money in your pockets? All of them fl?ow from the Confederacy. Is it perfect? Hell no, and I should know, because I helped create it.”
There was a buzz of conversation as the dozen or so council members consulted with each other before a candlemaker named Nightwork Waxman stood. He had tan fur with white tips, and a pair of bifocals were perched on the end of his nose. “You are President Chien-Chu?”
“I was president,” the businessman admitted. “But that was a long time ago.”
“I met you once,” the candlemaker said. “We shook hands. But you look different now.”
“My brain is the same,” Chien-Chu responded. “But the body is new. You could think of it as the civilian equivalent of a T-2.”
“All of which amounts to nothing,” the undertaker grumbled. “Who cares what was? It’s what is that counts.”
“And I couldn’t agree more,” Chien-Chu said as he eyed the faces around him. “So let’s talk about what is. The Naa people have their own government now, with Senator Nodoubt Truespeak to speak for them, and a future that looks bright. But only if people like Jakov can be prevented from hijacking the duly elected government. And that’s what he’s trying to do.”
“But how?” the butcher wanted to know. He was a burly male still clad in the bloodstained apron he’d been wearing when summoned. “We were told that there were checks and balances to prevent anyone from taking over.”
“And there are,” the cyborg agreed patiently. “And the system would have worked, except that Jakov had all of the people who might oppose him arrested and placed in the pit. General Bill Booly among them.”
That announcement caused quite a stir, because every one of them knew that General Booly’s grandmother had been Naa, and that he had always been sympathetic to their people. Furthermore, the locals knew Booly was married to Chien-Chu’s niece, the female credited with saving Senator Truespeak’s life not long before. All of which played into the complicated system of clan ties, blood debts, and deed-bonds that held Naa society together. So, now that Booly was in the mix, the already lively discussion grew even more heated, which forced Chien-Chu to sit and wait.
But the billionaire was a patient man and, because of the many capabilities built into his electromechanical
