It had taken every bit of force of character she had, that and a couple of bribes, to get through the many road blocks that barred her way to the 1st Division. Just as bad, the long columns of combat vehicles moving east had forced her to pull over several times to let them pass. And then, frustration piled on frustration, she had finally arrived to find that the man she had sought, Colonel Suarez, was long gone, heading west with the very columns she had seen.
Almost the girl had sat in the dust and cried.
The men at the command post had been very polite though. Perhaps it was because she was the president’s daughter. Perhaps it was because she was very young and, she knew, very pretty. Indeed, perhaps the sweat that turned her shirt and bra semi-transparent no doubt made her seem more attractive still. Then again, the men hadn’t really stared, so it was at least possible that Suarez’s soldiers had simply been gentlemen.
Whichever had been the cause, the men there had given her a place to sit out of the sun. They’d also given her water and something to eat. And then they’d ignored her completely.
It was only when she’d overheard some of them talking about a young pilot, a general’s son, no less, who had made a perilous flight and been badly hurt on landing that she put two and two together and, only stopping to ask for sketchy directions, practically flew to the field hospital.
The medics had taken her to Julio’s bedside then. She’d taken one look, then — weeping — laid her head down on his belly.
“I’m so sorry, Julio,” she’d said.
Interlude
“Oh, my head,” Guanamarioch moaned, sorry to be alive and gazing blearily at an empty glass container on the floor of his pyramidal hut.
In the months since that first bottle of the local “rum” that Ziramoth had introduced him to the God King had grown remarkably fond of the concoction. Sadly, the supply had grown rather short. Guano’s moan was half headache and half realization that yet another of the precious bottles had been consumed.
One of Guano’s superior normals was in attendance as the Kessentai awakened. The creature clucked sympathetically as it presented two nestlings, minus their heads, for its god’s breakfast. The nestling corpses were so fresh their six arms and legs still twitched with misfiring nerve impulses.
Gratefully, the God King took the nestlings from the cosslain. He placed them down on the floor and scratched the normal, making soft cooing sounds of thanks as he did so. The superior normal shook its head and preened itself before turning to leave its god with his breakfast.
One by one Guanamarioch wrenched off the arms and legs before gulping them down. The appendages twitched delightfully as they slid down his gullet. Idly, Guanamarioch wondered if either of these had been destined to become Kessentai or doomed to remain no more than a mere normal. Well, neither he nor they would ever know now.
Already, the fresh food went a long way towards restoring the God King, mind and spirit. His hangover beginning to flee, he took pleasure in ripping the nestlings’ still warm bodies into three sections each, upper and lower torsos, plus tails, before gulping them down. The delicious, nutrient rich tails he saved for last.
Thus refreshed, if still a bit bleary eyed, Guanamarioch departed his meager quarters for the daily labors.
Zira met the God King as he emerged from his quarters. “We’ve got trouble, Guano. The Gra’anorf to the southwest are assaulting our lines in strength we didn’t know they had. We’re pulling out.”
The God King inhaled deeply before forcibly blowing his breath out again.
“Shit!”
Chapter 26
Dirty and disheveled as he was or not, Daisy Mae yelped with joy when she first sensed her captain approaching the ship’s brow. An honor guard provided by Suarez saw McNair and Goldblum back to their ships, then stood with arms presented as they exchanged salutes with the deck officers before boarding.
The XO, the pork chop and Chief Davis met McNair on the deck. They almost fought for pride of place in welcoming back their captain. Daisy hung back, unable to shake hands, slap backs or — as she wanted to so desperately — throw her arms around her captain and kiss him into next week.
Calmly, remarkably so under the circumstances, McNair said, “Meeting in CIC in five minutes.” He thought about that for half a second, realized that he stank to the heavens and that CIC was small and cramped. He amended his order to, “Make that fifteen. I’d hate to be the cause of a mutiny.” Then McNair disappeared into his mostly repaired port cabin to scrub off several days of tropical jungle funk and replace his tattered, filthy uniform with a fresh one.
Daisy’s avatar met him in the shower. The image was undressed for the occasion.
McNair didn’t order her out. He didn’t order her to project a uniform. He simply said, “I missed you, Daisy. I missed you more than I can say. I was terrified I’d never see you again.”
“Do you like what you see?” the avatar asked uncertainly.
McNair laughed softly. “In whatever form, my very dear, ship or girl, yes, I like what I see.”
“Soon, then,” the avatar answered cryptically. “Very, very soon.”
In the event, the full remaining fifty-two legislators did not show up. Two remained in hiding, which was understandable as another two had been summarily shot.
But forty-eight is enough, Suarez mused. Forty-eight is a quorum.
Those forty-eight sat in their usual seats. In other words, there were huge and noticeable gaps in the assembly. Suarez had given some thought to that, then decided that the empty spaces might well serve to remind the captive legislators that he was as serious as cancer about what he wanted them to do. The ring of armed guards — helmeted, unsmiling and looking very businesslike in their battledress — only served to reinforce that impression.
Suarez was in battledress as well, though unhelmeted and his only weapon the pistol secured in his holster. With one arm in a sling and that shoulder bulging with bandages the pistol was more of a badge than a weapon.
He engaged in no histrionics, no banging of a fancy machete — less still the pistol — on the rostrum. Instead, Suarez merely tapped the rostrum’s microphone and quietly ordered, “Your attention please.”
Seeing that he had it, he launched into his talk without further ado.
“Democracy,” Suarez began, “is a wonderful thing. It is a way of changing power and setting new policies without bloodshed, without tearing the state apart to its vitals.”
He continued, “That is to say, democracy can be good. It isn’t always. Sometimes, elections merely set their seal on one grafting and corrupt cabal after another. Sometimes, no — I take that back… always, here, in Panama, that is what we have seen. The only difference between one party and another is who they will steal from and what they will steal.