"Did the Bolo really look fully operational to you. Dieter?" Wal Prescott asked. He rubbed his stump absently. "I mean, we all saw it clearing its Hellbores at th' sky, but. . ."
"I didn't see the Battle Center, if that's what you mean," Dieter replied. "But the major and Sergeant Kyle seemed to be in control of things."
"Are they?" a new voice demanded from the open clapboard door. "Do they have control of that damned Bolo? Or was it just clearing its guns?"
General Spratly stood in the doorway for a moment, hands on hips, surveying the gathered men and women
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as though holding an impromptu review. Several of the military personnel stood immediately, and after a moment's hesitation, more and more people stood as well. It was a tattered remnant of the old body of military formality and protocol that had shaped and ordered the CDF before The Killing.
Three more men entered behind the generalў Majors Dulaney and Howard, and Captain Pogue. The three staff officers took up positions shielding Spratly from the watching crowd.
"I never have been sure which side that damned machine was on," Spratly continued. "After the havoc it wreaked today, I'd think the rest of you would have some doubts too!"
"The Bolo drove off three clacker warships this afternoon, General," Dieter said.
"Did it?" Spratly and his entourage started forward, and the crowd parted before them. "Did it really? Did you see these warships, Dr. Hollinsworth?"
"No, I didn't. Major Graham told me that Hector engaged them while they were still some tens of thousands of kilometers out."
"That's his story. The story of a damned traitor and mutineer."
"Well, sir, if Hector wasn't trading shots with the clackers," Wal asked easily, "who was it dropping rocks on us from orbit?"
"Would anyone have been dropping those rocks if Graham hadn't started meddling with that thing in the first place?" Spratly retorted. "Damn it, we don't know what the alien machines might've done to the Bolo's programming. We don't know why the Bolo failed us at Chryse in the first place! Do we want to put our trust in that.. . that machine?"
"I don't like it much better'n you do. General," Wal said, shaking his head. "But y'gotta admit that ol'Jail gave th' clackers a licking! They lit off out ot h<
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William H. Keith, Jr.
like they had a hell-born legion of can openers after *em!"
"We're free, General," Dieter added. That's what counts!"
"And I think the general might be able to tell us a little bit more about what happened at Chryse, too," another voice said.
The waiting people turned as Jaime strode through the open door, Alita at his side. Both of them were resplendent in the dark blue-and-silver of the Cloud Defense Force, though neither uniform bore an emblem of rank, and Alita was still barefoot. Behind them, half a dozen men in gray guards" uniforms formed a silent wall, each of them with a gouged-out clacker eye wired to his or her head.
Spratly stared at them, ashen faced. "You . . ."
"Hello, General," Jaime said with a matter-of-fact smile. "I do apologize for the rough handling this afternoon."
