"And if you nx your precious Bolo, what then?" Spratly retorted. "You smash down the camp fences and we're all free. For how long? Do you remember the clacker fleet? Their ships filling the skies? The armies of combat machines smashing over every pocket of resistance? If you genuinely want to give yourself up for harvesting. Major, I suggest you do so. But kindly have the courtesy to leave us out of your plans for suicide."
Jaime looked to Spratly's left, studying one of the uprights that held the shack up, a ramshackle column constructed of patches and layers of scrap wood. Deciding, he brushed past Captain Pogue, grabbed one of the smaller boards, and yanked it off.
Inside was a hollow space, left as a secret cache when the hut was constructed. The space was empty.
Angrily, Jaime turned to face the general. "Where is it?"
"I thought you might try to take it on your own," Spratly said, grinning.
"Damn it, General," Jaime said, advancing on the man. "You have no right to force all of us in this camp to stay slaves!"
Spratly's hands dropped to his bedding. He rummaged for a second, then produced a bundle of oily rags. Jaime took another step, then froze in place. Spratly opened
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the rags, pulling forth the sleek, deadly gleam of a military-issue Mark XTV power gun, which he aimed at Jaime s chest.
"No closer, Major," Spratly rasped. "This thing is set to narrow beam, maximum output. Don't make me fry you, Jaime... ."
Itўafter all this time of caution, Jaime still had trouble thinking of it as a gunўhad been one of a handful of weapons smuggled in by human prisoners when the camp was first under construction. Most of the other weapons had been found and confiscated sooner or later, and their owners instantly harvested. As far as Jaime knew, it was the last power gun still in human hands inside the camp.
"Would you really burn me down, General?" Jaime asked, taking another step forward. "Do you hate the idea of freedom that much?"
"I hate the idea of the damned machines carving me up like a Founders' Day turkey," Spratly replied. Reaching up, he touched the scarred socket of his missing left eye. "I've been through it before. You can't know what it's like."
"Others in this camp have been through worse," Jaime replied. "They want to take the chance."
"A chance to get every man and woman in this camp lolled, slowly and horribly!" He glanced at his staff officers, all of whom were on their feet now, as though looking for support. "We won't allow it!"
Jaime spread his hands. "General, we don't need to involve you! Anyone who wants to stay can stay! But let the rest of us go!" He took another step, pulling up short when Spratly shifted aim to his head. "Who are you going to use that thing on, General? The cluckers? Or people you disagree with?"
"Shut up, Major. You are being insubordinate."
"Come on, General! If you're not going to use it, give it to people who will! You don't need to worry
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about us telling them where we got it. We intend to die clean, in battle, not inside a harvester!"
"I think, Major, that that is quite enough," Spratly huffed. "I am the senior officer in this camp, and by questioning me and my orders in this fashion you have committed a serious breach of discipline. You really leave me no alternative but to surrender you to the Masters forў"
Jaime shifted his attention suddenly from Spratly to the curtained door, his eyes widening. "They've heard us!" he shouted.
It was an old trick, repainted to suggest !*!*! machines were coming through the door instead of Jaime's friends. Its success, more than anything else, depended on just how worn down Spratly was by his just-completed work shift in the pits.
