“It’s happened before,” Kalico told him. “Just ask Talina. Cap Taggart resigned his commission and half my marines revolted rather than space back on Turalon. By now the FNGs have not only heard that story but had time to really think about it. It’s one thing to be assigned to a post in Transluna and a whole different thing to be out here, peeling sidewinders off your boot, shooting mobbers from the sky, and all the while a ghost ship is orbiting overhead.”

The wailing blast of the all-clear could be heard; everyone in the room, including the tired-looking soft meat, began to cheer and clap. People were rising from their benches, the babble of relieved speech rising in volume.

“That’s my cue,” Kalico said, and turning, bellowed, “Hey! Your attention!”

When nothing much happened, Talina turned in her chair, thundering, “Shut the fuck up and listen!”

Instant silence, all eyes turned their way.

“One of these days, you’re going to tell me how you do that,” Kalico muttered, then to the room called, “For those of you who don’t know, I’m Board Supervisor Kalico Aguila. My apologies for not meeting with you sooner, but we’ve had some complications. I need all new contractees to assemble in the cafeteria at 08:00. I’ll address you then. As soon as I have your contract information, we’ll begin placements. If you have any questions or complaints, any issues regarding contract, bring them to me in the cafeteria. See you there.”

Talina, Dek, and Kylee were slinging their rifles, looking ragged and tired.

“Where are you off to?”

“Sczui’s,” Dek told her. “And my guess, given what we’re probably going to find, we’d rather be attending your meeting.”

Kalico watched them go, nodded her agreement. “Yeah, bet it’s going to be nasty.”

Chapter 42

  42  

Falise thought she’d suffocate in the confines of her dome. A shabby excuse of a habitation, it seemed to suck the air out of her lungs. Dark, dingy, with its dirty windows. Even worse, she’d found to her dismay that the water that she’d thought was supplied by pipeline from a city facility, was from a cistern. Rainwater, fallen from the sky, that ran off the dome and was collected for future use.

Heaven alone knew what sort of filth might be in that tank.

The miracle was that, so far, she hadn’t gotten sick.

Sitting on the old couch, she stared sightlessly at the door and tried to breathe. Suck in a lungful. Exhale. But grief beat with every contraction of her heart. Ednund? It shouldn’t be this hard.

But it was. Like she’d never take a full breath again.

Clarice sat, back slumped, on one of the stools at the breakfast bar; her eyes focused on some impossible distance. Expression dull. As if that remarkable analytic brain of hers had turned off.