Carnifex

overhead. One second he was riding his horse, half asleep and letting the animal pick its way along the jungle trail. The next, the world seemed engulfed in explosions as salvo after salvo of rockets came in on his narrow little column.

As quickly as the attack had come it passed, leaving only the screams of the wounded men and horses.

'How the fuck do I fight that,' Belisario cursed aloud.

Chapter Fourteen

'Your opponent can't talk when he has your fist in his mouth.'

—President William Jefferson Clinton

35/3/468 AC, UEPF Spirit of Peace

Transfer between ships was always a pain for someone. Given the nature of the cargo, it was critically important that whoever it was a pain for, it not present the slightest difficulty or discomfort for the hereditary Marchioness of Amnesty, Lucretia Arbeit. One of the crew of the shuttle already had a bright red welt rising on her face from the Marchioness' leather riding crop. Arbeit was an absolute stickler for protocol and the unfortunate Class IV had regrettably failed to go belly down in full proskynesis as Arbeit passed through the shuttle's portal.

There were two ways to make transfers when two spinning ships were involved. One was very difficult, involving lining the ships up stern to stern, killing rotation in both, docking and then recommencing spin, with one spinning opposite to its usual direction.

That was almost never done. Instead, shuttles were used, the receiving ship taking control of the shuttle and matching its spin to that of the ship. This was the method used to bring Arbeit aboard the Spirit of Peace.

The hangar deck could only accommodate a few dozen in the reception party. They, excepting only High Admiral Robinson, executed full proskynesis as the Inspector General emerged from the shuttle. Proskynesis was for lowers; among Class Ones a broad equality reigned. He and the imperious Marchioness settled for shaking hands as the crew ungracefully arose from their supine positions of homage.

'Lucretia, how truly delightful to see you once again,' Robinson said with no obvious insincerity. Then again, Old Earth's elites learned to mask their feelings quite young.

'Martin, dear boy, you cannot imagine what a simply ghastly trip this has been and how pleased I am to see you at the end of it.'

Robinson smiled warmly. 'May I present my staff and crew?'

'Please.'

Turning, Robinson introduced Wallenstein first. She bowed, saying, 'At your service, madam.' Then, as she lifted her head, she also licked her lips slightly just in case the IG had any doubts as to how completely at her service Wallenstein intended to be.

'Charmed, Captain,' Arbeit answered with a nod and a subtle swipe of her tongue across her own lower lip.

'My ship's sociologist, Lieutenant Commander Kahn.'

Kahn the wife practically quivered in anticipation of the pleasurable beatings she expected the IG to administer. 'I'm sooo thrilled to meet you, Admiral,' she gushed.

'My operations officer . . . '

* * *

Later Robinson said, 'What I don't understand is why you are here, Lucretia. The IG practically never visits the fleet here. It's been over a century.'

'Yes, I know, Martin,' Arbeit agreed in the intimacy of the guest VIP suite. 'The Consensus sent me. They've heard things are going badly here. Things are not going so well at home, either. We might need you to bring the fleet back.'

'The reverted areas?' Robinson asked.

'Yes . . . but not the way you might expect, Martin. There was a raid on Buenas Aires from some barbarians in the Pampas reversion. The city was taken and sacked. For three days it was sacked.'

'My Annan!' Robinson exclaimed. 'Buenas Aires? That's . . . '

'Inconceivable?' Arbeit supplied. 'Impossible? Nonetheless, our last outpost in southern South America is gone. We've had to pull out of everything south of Montevideo.'

'But . . . well . . . Lucretia you can't take any of the fleet away. You just can't. Let me explain.'

Robinson proceeded to lay out the situation on Terra Nova and the long term threat it presented to the ruling caste on Old Earth.

'I had no idea things here were so dangerous for us,' Arbeit said.

'Some of my staff think I'm being optimistic in believing we even have a chance to eliminate the Terra Novan threat, long term,' the High Admiral answered glumly.

'Be that as it may, I may still have to take some of the fleet back home with me. What good does it do to eliminate a threat here and lose our home and position there? And even if I decide I can't do that, I'm going to need some excellent reasons for not doing so when I report to the Consensus.'

'I can understand that,' Robinson agreed. 'I'll even escort you down below, myself, so you can see.'

'Will you escort me through my little games, too, Martin?' Arbeit asked with a smile.

'Sorry, Lucretia, but they're not to my taste. Wallenstein will take care of that.'

'Your lovely ship's captain? What is she, a Class Two? She looks like fun.'

'Oh, she's great fun for a lower,' Robinson agreed. 'Just don't damage her. I need her too much for that.'

'Don't worry, Martin,' Arbeit assured. 'I never damage a playmate over Class Four. Now if you have some slaves you don't need . . . '

'Already taken care of, Lucretia. Though they haven't yet been told they're lost souls.'

'Not a problem, Martin. I love explaining to lowers that their future has become grim.'

1/4/468 AC, BdL Dos Lindas, Sea of Sind

Xamar was lost to view behind them. The weather above and around the ship was foul, winds howling through the wires of the ship's island and white-capped waves pounding the hull. Only a few crew stood watch above and those took care always to have a hand grasped to something, lest a freak wave wash them over the side. The aircraft were struck below. Rather, they were struck below and more or less compressed to one end of the hangar deck; the space thus freed being filled with several hundred of the crew, all that could be spared from necessary duties.

The forward elevator was lowered almost flush to provide a speaking platform. On it, where they could be seen by that portion of the crew assembled, stood Kurita, Fosa, and a few of the staff, each man, like the assembled crew, unconsciously swaying with the roll of the ship. There was a large wooden box to one side, marked as being an engine for one of the Crickets. There was nothing unusual in there being a major assembly for one of the aircraft sitting on the elevator that joined the flight and the hangar decks.

The ship's senior centurion, Sergeant Major Ramirez (for—except for the position of captain and honorary rank of commodore—the Legion's classis maintained the same rank structure as the ground and air components), stood in front of the Cricket engine crate. Above the crate and the deck, above the captain, commodore, sergeant major and staff, an aramid fiber tarp stretched taut over the elevator to keep out the wind and keep off the rain. Rain still dripped in places, causing the men standing on the elevator to adjust their positions to keep dry. Ramirez barely kept a smile off his face, for he was the only one on the ship besides the mail clerk who was in on Kurita's little scheme.

For his part, Fosa's own face bore something of a clueless expression. Kurita had asked for permission to address the crew and, while the captain had had no objections, he also had no idea of why the Yamatan would wish to. Congratulations from the Zaibatsu that had hired them?

Why bother? We've got what we need with the expansion of the contract to the Nicobar Straits. Decidedly odd.

At a nod from Kurita, Ramirez walked from in front of the crate to the edge of the elevator. He called the crew to attention, then turned and reported to the Commodore, 'Sir, ship's company present or accounted for.'

Kurita returned the salute. Ramirez dropped his own and walked back to his post by the crate. Stepping forward Kurita began to speak, his left hand resting lightly on the tsuka of the sword thrust through the sash about his waist.

'Somewhere in Uhuru,' Kurita began, 'a child sleeps tonight with a full belly. A year ago the odds were good that that child went to bed hungry to the point of pain and with no guarantee of awakening the next morning. That belly is tonight full—the child can be sure of waking up tomorrow—for one reason; that commerce again flows