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incident crossing Lal s desk.
I do apologize. A protest will not be necessary now that I have
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Williams, Walter Jon - Voice of the Whirlwind been warned. He looked over his
shoulder. Sorry to bother you, Sereng, he said, but the Nepalese had already
turned away, heading back to the group around the container. Away, away,
said the Power. Its long ropy arms were making scissoring motions at Steward s
knees, as if offering to slice at his hamstrings. Steward saw Colorado moving
toward him, gliding with deliberate haste along the Velcro strip.
Yes, yes. My apologies, Steward said, and let the Power chivvy him away.
Colorado s big hand reached out and slammed down on his shoulder. What s the
matter with you? he asked. He was almost dragging Steward away. Don t you
know about the goddamn redstripes?
No. I don t. What s the matter?
Colorado was furious. Somebody fucked up, that s the matter.
You were supposed to get a lecture about not talking to Power personnel.
One of them was an old friend. Are they really Power citizens?
Colorado looked over his shoulder at the group, his fingers tightening on
Steward s shoulder. Damn right they are. They re the only humans allowed into
the Power section of the centrifuge. They re the crazy ones.
The ones who love them.
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Williams, Walter Jon - Voice of the Whirlwind
Colorado spat. The globe of saliva traveled out into the room and vanished
into the distance. The ones who have cheese for brains, he said.
Steward looked up as a shadow passed between him and the big bank of
floodlights that illuminated this part of the dock. It was
Reese, the straps of her maneuvering jets wrapped around her body, hovering
over him with quick bursts of peroxide.
Trouble, Steward?
Steward looked up at her. I knew one of those guys from before. I was in the
Icehawks with him. But now they re taboo or something.
The ones in the purple jackets with the stripe, Colorado said.
Stay the hell away. His eyes narrowed. Icehawks? he said.
I m older than I look.
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Reese had tumbled slightly in space, was craned over looking at the Power
citizens through her wide-spaced legs. I know one of those people, too, she
said in surprise. The tall redhead. She was in a recce unit on Archangel.
She was silent for a moment.
When she looked at Steward her eyes were questioning. Can they all be
ex-military? she wondered. What do the Powers need them for?
They work for Samuel, Colorado said. They build his media image, arrange
for release of information from Power space, negotiate trade agreements.
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Why does he need former military? Reese demanded.
I dunno, Colorado said. They never leave the Legation, so far as I know.
Steward said nothing. He was thinking about Sereng s eyes.
CHAPTER 11
Steward had something new in his cabin. like SuTopo with his bonsai, Fischer
with his mountain, and the former occupant of
Steward s cabin with the labia of anonymous women, Steward had refined his
aspirations to a single image. He d cut it from a magazine the day
Born left Vesta behind.
It was a picture of a video set in a blue plastic case. The picture was a
jagged haze of interference lines. Behind the interference, a vague image
could be seen, or perhaps imagined.
The object of Steward s desire.
The picture was in his mind, mingled with the patterns of the engine analogs
that still pulsed in Steward s brain, the images that lingered even after a
six-hour sleep. The high-g engine burn out of the Belt was over, and
Born was on its fifty-two day
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