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Twelve - EARTH
Ishimoto-Seven came to his feet. His fingers opened and closed. "I didn't come here to take insults from corporate whores! Perhaps Citizen Quinn would like to take it outside, where I would be pleased to kick his pompous ass!"
Usmos started to intervene, but Luton beat her to it. His voice was low but carried to every corner of the room. "Stow the bullshit".
The room fell silent as the officer stood and clasped his hands behind his back. His eyes were like lasers and probed the faces around him. "Let's get something straight.... Every damned one of you has an axe to grind. Fine. I accept that. But nothing, I repeat nothing, is going to happen unless my people put their lives on the line and manage to win one hellacious battle.
"If we survive, if we win, the lot of you can squabble over who gets what, so long as you remember one important fact: We have the weapons, we have the know-how, and we have the final say. Question
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HALF BREED Thirteen - EARTH
That being the case, the major's nervousness was somewhat understandable, even if he was a worthless piece of shit. Paul flipped a switch, consulted a list, and addressed his boom mike. "Transport mike-sierra-vielrot-one-niner-eight, this is Bashu control, over".The reply could be heard on an overhead speaker and had the precise, slightly stilted sound of a voice synthesizer. A sure sign that the pilot was a cyborg. The vast majority of box heads chose to maintain their original genders, and the flight officer was no exception. "This is one-ninety-eight... Go".Paul looked at Lucy. She nodded. "Tell her to return and land in the compound".The noncom relayed the message and monitored the reply. "Sorry, Bashu control, but that's a negative. My number two engine shows yellow, and I need a class three facility or better".Lucy nodded. The fort's pad was rated class four, which meant there were no maintenence functio
HALF BREED Fourteen - EARTH
The officer, not wanting to appear frightened, sent Martin a dirty look, made a note to get even, and opened the door. The tarmac was so hot he could feel the heat through the bottoms of his boots.Daniell waited for a dilapidated cargo car to pass, followed the faded yellow line out to the fly form, and mounted the aluminum stairs. Chances were that Marco would be pissed and looking for someone to crap on.Daniell plastered his best shit-eating smile across his face, stepped into the relatively cool interior, and called the officer's name. "Colonel Marco? Mayor Daniell here, come to pick you up".The response came from speakers mounted at the front of the cabin. "This is Lieutenant Morris, sir... The colonel left"."Left?" Daniell asked. "How? Where?""Sorry, sir. I don't know"."What about the prisoner? A corporal named Sparrow?""Don't know, sir. The two of them left together?
HALF BREED Fifteen - EARTH
Sparrow grinned, fed the specially programmed strip of "live" metal into the appropriate slot, and waited for the device to figure out which of the more than one hundred thousand possible shapes programmed into its memory would handle this particular lock. He had won the tool in a poker game, and used it ever since. Less than three seconds had elapsed when Marco heard a decisive click, saw the noncom turn the handle, and watched the door swing open.The sentry, plus a couple of her buddies, were seated around the cooler sipping from cold bottles of beer. She went for her rifle, but Marco was quicker. "Sorry", the officer said, "but I'll take that. Finish the beer and report to the sergeant at arms when you're done".The legionnaire were still sitting there, staring at the place where the officer had been, when the porters marched by. "Who the hell was that?" Private Joelle asked of no one in particular."That was your new commanding offic
HALF BREED Sixteen - EARTH
There was a loud thump. Marco turned to find that his other ground pounder, Captain Simon Olmsted III, commanding officer of D Company, 2nd REP, was facedown on the table. A steady expanding red stain indicated where his wine had gone. No one seemed surprised. That spoke volumes... And Marco made a note.The next officer, Captain Gandhi NY, was something of a surprise. Given the fact that there was no way in hell that her ten-ton, tractorlike body was going to fit inside the mess, and the rest of the officers weren't likely to dine in her vast underground garage, the cyborg had elected to have her brain box delivered to the table.And not just delivered, but delivered on a silver tray, which Marco found to be vastly amusing. It spoke of style, courage, and a good sense of humor.NY's brain box, which was covered with a custom-tailored dress uniform, plus rows of decorations, was equipped with a vid cam as well. It whirred as it pann
HALF BREED Seventeen - EARTH
Marco nodded and saluted in return. His voice made its way through a wire-thin boom mike and out over the PA system. "Thank you, Major. Put the troops at ease".Daniell did a perfect about-face, gave the appropriate order, and was rewarded with something less than perfection. The entire headquarters company seemed a little slow on the uptake, as if they hadn't drilled in quite a while, and the cyborgs, who backed the rest of the troops, made no move whatsoever. They'd been at ease from the start. Sloppiness? Or insolence? The first was regrettable, the second could be dangerous.Marco cleared his throat, brought the orders up in front of his face, and read them aloud. The language, though stilted and somewhat archaic, still possessed power. Not because of the words themselves, but because of the thousands who had both spoken and heard them. Some had gone on to live long, happy lives. Many had not. They lay buried beneath thick jungle foliage, under piles
HALF BREED Eighteen - IN SPACE
Once recovered from the trauma of losing both the Pelocan and the drifter, Jyro found life on the Shem vessel to be unexpectedly serene. The days, as recorded as scratches in the ship's hull metal, seemed to drift by.For the first time in years the human found himself with plenty of time to think and reflect. In fact, had it not been for the certainty that he would eventually run out of food, the experience might have been rather pleasant.Jyro followed a self-imposed routine that provided a modicum of both structure and comfort. His body clock woke him at approximately 0800 each morning. Never one to lounge about, the prospector rolled out of his improvised bag and onto the cold metal deck. The calisthenics included thirty-five push ups, followed by thirty-five leg lifts, thirty-five sit-ups, and thirty-five additional push-ups.Once the exercises were complete, there were prayers to say, not the repetitious sort of nonsense favored by his father, but long, one-sided conv
HALF BREED Nineteen - IN SPACE
The Vamoos ship was more than five hundred feet long and consisted of a ram scoop, some very complex separators, and six cylinders, each of which was divided into multiple tanks.As with all the Vamoos race, the intelligence who controlled the ship and served as its single crew member was known by his job description, a rather lengthy affair that filled the brains of no less than 107 nonsentient storage beings, but could be Summerized as: "The one who travels vast distances in search of materials required to repair, maintain, and further Vamoos infrastructure to the benefit of the race".The last part was especially important, since all activity was measured in terms of its usefulness to the race, and anything that failed to meet stringent criteria went unresourced.Still, as with most of his peers, the pilot had chosen an abbreviated identifier in the form of a two symbol poem: Far/Fetcher.But none is that was on the Vamoos' mind as he cruised the ocean of clou
HALF BREED Twenty - EARTH
It was dark, and the lights of Los Angeles looked like gems scattered on black velvet. Thousands of grav platforms, robolifts and aircars crisscrossed the local sky grid.No one paid any particular attention to the unmarked personnel carrier that rode a priority vector in from the east, dropped out of traffic, and landed on a high rise. Three men exited the aircraft. It was gone moments later.John Usmos shivered in the early morning air. His fatigues had the word "Prisoner" stenciled on the back, his hands were cuffed in front of him, and chains rattled at his feet. His excort consisted of two MPs, neither of whom was much of a conversationalist. The first, an individual whom John had christened "Dickhead", motioned toward a sudden rectangle of light. "Put your ass in gear, John - we haven't got all day".No "sir", no "please", just "put your ass in gear". But that's how it was for prisoners, especially those who were or had been officers.John e
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