[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Demeter. The regiment suffered sixty-four percent casualties during the three-week operation yet took all
assigned objectives within the operations plan timetable.
"To honor their achievement, the Guard's First Assault was granted, by the Eternal Emperor himself, the
right to wear an Imperial fourragere in red, white, and green. The battle honors of Demeter were added
to the division's colors.
"In addition, many individual awards for heroism were made, including the Galactic Cross, posthumous,
to Guardsman Jaime Shavala, whose experiences you were fortunate enough to participate in as part of
this test.
"There will be thirty minutes of free time before the evening meal is served. Testing will recommence
tomorrow. That is all. You may leave the test chamber."
Sten clambered out of the chair. Odd. He could still feel where that bullet had hit him. The door opened,
and Sten headed for the messhall. So that's being a hero. And also that's becoming dead. Neither one of
them held any attraction for Sten. Still, he thought to himself, thirty-six percent is a better survival rate
than Exotic Section had. But he still wanted to know what valuable characteristics he could develop to
qualify for Guard's First Assault Way Behind the Lines Slackers Detachment.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
He sat on the edge of a memorial to some forgotten battle and waited for the long line of prospective
recruits to shorten up.
Sten took a deep breath of nonmanufactured air and was mildly surprised to find himself feeling happy.
He considered. Bet? That wasn't something he was over. Any more than he had recovered from the
death of his family. He guessed, though, that that kind of thing got easier to deal with with practice.
Practice, he suddenly realized, he might get a lot of in the Guard.
Ah well. He stood and strolled toward the end of the line. At least he was off Vulcan. And he'd never
have to go back. Although he did have dreams about what Vulcan would look like with a sticky planet
buster detonated just above The Eye.
Very deliberately he shut the idea off, and concentrated on being hungry.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
RYKOR, TOO, WAS happy. Wild arctic seas boomed in her mind. Waves climbed toward the gray,
overcast sky as glaciers calved huge bergs.
She rolled as she surfaced, exultantly spouting, then crashed her flukes against the water, and leapt free
from wave to wave in powerful, graceful dives. There was a gentle tap on her shoulder.
Rykor rolled one eye open and sourly looked up at Frazer, one of her assistants. "You want?" she
rumbled.
"There's a vid for you. From Prime World."
Rykor whuffled through her whiskers and braced both arms on the sides of the tank. She levered her
enormous bulk up and over into the gravchair. Folds of blubber slopped over the sides until the frantic
chair tucked them all safely in place. She tapped controls, and the chair slid her across the chamber to
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
the main screen. Frazer fussed beside her.
"It's in reference to that new Guards recruit. The one you put the personal key on."
"Figures," Rykor muttered. "Now I'll get more walrus jokes. Whatever a walrus is."
The screen was blank, except for a single line of blinking letters. Rykor was mildly surprised, but
touched the CIPHER button, and added the code line. She motioned Frazer away from the screen.
It cleared, and Mahoney beamed out at her.
"Thought I'd take a moment of your time, Rykor, and ask you to check on one of my lads."
Rykor touched a button, and a second screen lit "Sten?"
"Now that'd be a good guess."
"Guess? With your personal code added to the computer key?"
"That's always been my problem. Never known for bein' subtle."
Rykor didn't bother with a retort. Too easy a target. "You want his scores?"
"Now would I be bothering a chief psychologist if all I needed was a clerk to recite to me? You know
what I'd like."
Rykor took a deep breath. "Overall, he should be what I've heard you call a 'nest of snakes.'" Mahoney
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
looked puzzled, but decided to let it pass. "Exceptionally high intelligence level, well integrated into
temporal planning and personnel assessment.
"Which does not compute. He should be either catatonic or a raving psychopath. Instead, he's far too
sane. We can test more intensively, but I believe he's primarily functional because his experiences are
unassimilated."
"Explain."
"Analysis bringing these problems, and his unexpressed emotions into the open would be suggested."
"Suggested for what," Mahoney said. "We're not building a poet. All I want is a soldier. Will he fall apart
in training?"
"Impossible to predict with any certainty. Personal feeling probably not. He's already been stressed far
beyond our limits."
"What kind of soldier will he be?"
"Execrable."'
Mahoney looked surprised.
"He has little emotional response to the conventional stimuli of peer approval, little if any interest in the
conventional rewards of the Guard. A high probability of disobeying an order he feels to be nonsensical
or needlessly dangerous."
Mahoney shook his head mournfully. "Makes one wonder why I recruited him. And into my own dearly
beloved regiment."
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
"Very possibly," Rykor said dryly, "it's because his profile is very similar to your own."
"Mmm. Perhaps that's why I try to stay away from my own beloved regiment. Except at Colors Day."
Rykor suddenly laughed. It rolled out like a sonic boom, and her body moved in undulating waves,
almost driving the chair into a breakdown. She shut the laugh off.
"I get the feeling, Ian, that you are tapping the Old Beings Network."
Mahoney shook his head.
"Wrong. I don't want the boy cuddled through training. If he doesn't make it. . ."
"You'd send him back to his homeworld?"
"If he doesn't make it," Mahoney said quietly, "he's of no interest to me."
Rykor moved her shoulders.
"By the way. You should be aware that the boy has a knife up his arm."
Mahoney picked his words carefully. "Generally the phrase is knife up his sleeve, if you'll permit me."
"I meant what I said. He has a small knife, made of some unknown crystalline material, sheathed in a
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
