Piranha

The sailor handing the chow line in the mess tent saw Da

“Problem with that?” said Da

“No, sir,” said the Navy seaman, lifting the metal cover on the serving tray. “No, sir. Good to seem someone with a healthy appetite.”

“It’s good cooking, sailor,” said Da

He was putting off talking to Colonel Bastian. He’d already put it off since last night, when he could have caught the colonel before he turned in. This morning he could have grabbed him before his briefing session. Da

Powder was right about the girl. That was no reason, none at all, not to do his job. She wasn’t the same woman, and he wasn’t in the same situation.

But she didn’t present a threat, nor did her village. He knew that in his bones.

They couldn’t keep her in the med tent; he had to deal with her before Peterson went over his head, which he might already have done.

Or Stoner. The spook thought he was God, just about. Spy with attitude. He would get involved soon too.

Da

He sure as hell wasn’t trained—wasn’t paid—to get caught up in emotions and buried memories. Maybe Jemma was right; maybe it was time for him to quit.

And do what? Run for office? What good would he do?

Right wrongs, like Jem always said.

That was what he was doing now.

“Hey, Cap, you probably want to get over to the med tent,” said Bison, leaning down next to him. “Stoner’s hassling the prisoner.”

“Shit,” muttered Da

He found Stoner sitting across form the woman in a chair. She was talking in English, her face red. Da

“They burned the house first,” continued the woman. “The houses were huts, not even as sturdy as this. Two people we have never seen again. These are the people you call saviors.”

“I didn’t call them saviors,” said Stoner. His voice was flat, as unemotional as a surgeon asking for a fresh scalpel.

“We want only to live in peace. Is that too much to ask?”

“You’re not in a good place,” said Da

“Where would you have us live?” she demanded.

“I don’t know.”

“If you turn us over to the government, they will massacre us.” She looked at Da

“Mr. Stoner, a word,” said Da

“She telling the truth?” Da

“I told you there’d be a sob story.”

“Sob story—two people being killed is hardly a sob story.”

“What would you call it?” Stoner asked.

“A fucking massacre—an atrocity.”

Stoner shrugged.

“We’re not turning her over to the government, or the army,” said Da

Stoner said nothing.

“We’re not,” said Da

“What do you want me to say?”

“Say you agree.”

Stoner shrugged.

Da

“We can move them. But sooner or later, the Army will find them again. We won’t have control over what happened then.”

“You know.”

Da

It didn’t matter. He’d move them himself.

“You going against me on this?” Da

Stoner shrugged. “I’m not for or against it. It’s not really my business. There’s a communication network. I have NSA intercepts that are reporting on ship activity and transmitting.”

“From here?”

“They haven’t been able to pin down the location, which is pretty interesting. I guess. There are two kinds of transmission—radio, and something that goes underwater. Not all of it’s decoded.”