Spinneret

You were saying you had a message from Perez?"

"Yes, Colonel." Gritting her teeth, she plunged in. "Mr. Perez called me a few minutes ago with a couple of suggestions—"

"You mean demands, don't you?" Meredith interrupted.

"I don't know, sir. They did sound more like suggestions to me."

Meredith dismissed the point with a grunt. "All right. Let's hear them and be done with it."

"First of all, he again says that Major Dunlop should be relieved of command in Ceres." The list was short, and Carmen ran through it as quickly and precisely as she could. When she was finished, Meredith grunted again.

"As it happens, I'm still considering what to do with Major Dunlop," he said.

"Relieving him of command is one possibility, but I'm not going to be rushed in my decision—certainly not by some transplanted professional troublemaker."

Carmen frowned. "Sir?"

"Oh, you didn't know? Your friend Perez is one of the new breed of collegeeducated Hispanic Rights activists crowding the landscape these days. Sort of a newcomer to the field, but damn good at it—has one of those golden oratory styles that turns crowds and liberal media inside out. I don't know who the ironhead was who approved him for Astra, but I intend to get him disapproved and sent back to Arizona as soon as I can."

"I see." Perez's presence here was starting to make sense— perhaps on more than one level. "Colonel … have you given any more thought to the idea of setting up a citizen advisory council? I think it might ease the tension if you a

"Miss Olivero." Meredith's voice was soft and excruciatingly patient. "The farm work in Crosse is three days behind schedule, work on Martello's landing field is being interrupted while Major Brown tries to figure out whether we should be building defenses against that Rooshrike mining group two planets over, and about thirty percent of my troops are currently tied up with civil peacekeeping duty. I'll tell you just once more: we ca

"Yes, sir," she said between rigid lips.

"Good. You can tell Perez you delivered his message—and the next time he has something to say, he can write me a note. Dismissed."

Silently, Carmen got to her feet and left the room, resisting the urge to slam the door behind her. Of course an advisory council would use up time—but so did civil unrest. In the long run the good such councils did nearly always outweighed their costs; she'd seen the studies that proved it. Why wouldn't the colonel at least give the idea a fair hearing? Was he simply allergic to civilian politics, like so many other career officers she'd known? Or—

Or was it because she was a Hispanic?

"Excuse me, miss?"

She came to an abrupt halt and focused for the first time on the man who had stepped between her and the outer office door. "Yes, ah—?" she said, trying to figure out where she'd seen him before.

"I'm Dr. Peter Hafner," he identified himself. "Geologist. I saw you with Colonel Meredith the second night here, when I came to ask about the grounded flyers."

The memory clicked. "Yes, of course. You wanted to study Mt. Olympus."

"Right. Well, I've been trying to see the colonel about getting one of them—they're back in service, but I'm way down on the list."

Carmen shot a glance at Meredith's secretary, caught the other's look of strained patience. She'd once worked as a secretary herself … "Tell you what," she said to Hafner. "Let's go to the lounge and you can tell me why a car or plane won't do.

Maybe we can work out something."

"Well … " Hafner's eyes flicked behind her to Meredith's door. "Okay."

He didn't wait for them to reach the lounge, but launched into his spiel before they were even out the door. "Let me remind you first of all why an examination of Olympus is so important. For whatever mysterious reason, there appears to be little or no metal content anywhere in the first five hundred meters of Astra's crust, if the Rooshrike data can be trusted. A volcano like Olympus gives us a sampling of the deeper magma—and if that layer should turn out to be metal-rich, it would give us an indication of where the weak points are for drilling."

He paused for breath, enabling Carmen to get a word in. "Yes, I remember all this from the last time. You haven't said yet why you specifically need a flyer."

"A car doesn't have the room I'd need to carry a coring tube and driver—the tube breaks down into sections, but they're almost five meters long. I don't know if a Cessna can carry them, but even if it can I wouldn't be able to land as far up the volcano cone as I'd need to. I need VTOL, and that means a flyer."

They'd reached the lounge now, little more really than a widening of the hall with a few chairs and low tables. Three junior officers sat around one of the tables, deep in conversation; Carmen steered Hafner to the table farthest from them and sat down. The geologist took a seat opposite her, an expectant look on his face.

"First of all," she told him, "I'm not really in a position to do much about this. I'm technically a civilian, and don't fit anywhere into the chain of command."

He waved the disclaimer away. "You clearly have the colonel's ear, though. That's more important to me now than any silly ranking scheme."

First Perez, Carmen thought, and now him. What on Earth am I doing that makes me look so authoritative?

"Besides," Hafner continued, "civilians like you I can talk to. I sometimes think military procedure was set up specifically to confuse and intimidate those of us outside the secret club."

Somewhere in the back of Carmen's mind a light flashed on. "You're having trouble adjusting to Army rules?" she asked casually.

Hafner let his breath out in a whuff. "I've had less trouble with the L.A. city government. That's why I've been haunting Colonel Meredith's office, in fact—I can't seem to find the right way to go through cha

"I know how you feel," she nodded. "It took me the better part of six months to figure my own way around." She paused. "As a matter of fact, that whole problem's been on my mind lately. What would you think of us organizing a sort of citizen's advisory council to act as—oh, complaint clearinghouse and general go-between with the military?"

"Sounds great," Hafner said. He cocked his head slightly. "Though … that 'us'

wasn't specifically you and me, was it?"

She laughed. "No, I'm not roping you in as cochair or anything. Actually, I'm afraid the colonel hasn't gone for the idea yet; he thinks it would take up valuable man-hours."

Hafner grunted. "If it simplified communication, it would pay for itself in the long run." He leaned back slightly, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "So. I gather you want me to make the same suggestion to him, using my scientific authority or whatever?"

"More or less." She found herself mildly impressed that he'd caught on so fast.

"You don't need to fake an independent brainstorm, though. All I want is for you to get as many of the other scientists and technical people as you can to support the idea. You're the real VIPs here, and the colonel knows it."

"And once you've got his permission to go ahead?"

She hesitated only a second. "When the colonel authorizes the council, I'll get you one of the flyers."

"It's a deal," Hafner said promptly, getting to his feet. "If you'll excuse me, then, I'll go find myself a soapbox and get busy." Whistling something ninetiessounding, he disappeared down the hall.

Carmen stayed where she was another minute before starting back toward her office. What Meredith would think of all this she couldn't guess, but with any sort of backing from the scientific community, he should find it impossible to refuse at least a trial run. And once set up, the council would be worthwhile—she knew it.