"I understand. Not your fault." Carrera sighed. "Go hit the rack, Dan. Maybe something will turn up."
Carrera closed his eyes and put his head in his hands, elbows resting on the kitchen table.
Before leaving, Kuralski turned and said, "Pat, Daugher had a death in his family in Dragonback Pass. He's asked if he can take a couple of weeks' leave. Bowman wanted to go with him, said he'd never been to Dragonback. Any problem?"
Carrera, despondent, said, "Sure. Let them go. No problem."
Satisfied, Kuralski left Carrera alone with his troubles.
Lourdes found him there like that, unmoving, head still in his hands. She padded in on bare feet, silently. At least, if Carrera had heard he gave no sign. She thought, How very sad and tired he looks. Poor man.
She reached a hand to pat him lightly on the back. The hand never touched; when it was a bare inch from him she drew it back. He had never invited her to touch him in any way. She didn't feel right doing so now.
Instead, Lourdes backed off, walked around the wooden table and took a chair opposite her boss.
That, Carrera heard. Though his eyes remained closed he recognized her familiar sounds. He said, "Hello, Lourdes. What's keeping you awake so late?"
"Nothing, really," the girl answered. "I came down for a glass of milk and found you here. What's wrong, Patricio?"
Eyes still shut, chin resting on steepled fingers, he answered, "Everything."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Want? No. Need? Maybe so. I am trying to build a force to avenge my family. You know this. We have made some pretty good strides in that regard, too. But I have three problems… and they appear insurmountable."
Lourdes made an inquisitive sound. Carrera continued.
"First off, no matter what we have planned, the staff informs meand I believe them-that there is no way for us to put a useful force into the war in a timely fashion. 'Three years,' they tell me, 'maybe four.' Then there's Parilla. He thought he could swing the government around to supporting us. He can't. He's pulled every string, called in every favor, and we're still short the votes we need. Lastly, my damned cousin. I could afford to bribe enough politicians if I had control of my Uncle Bob's estate. I do not. Cuz found a lawyer who would… at least I guess he would… support him for an estate fight. So it looks like everything we have done so far is wasted."
Eyes still shut tight Carrera moved his right hand to massage both sides of his nose with index finger and thumb.
"It looks pretty hopeless."
Lourdes chewed on her lower lip, thinking. "I can't think of anything to do about the will or the government, Patricio, but… oh what's that word in English?"
"Try Spanish," Carrera suggested.
"No, no," Lourdes insisted. "I don't think we have a similar word. I'll remember it. I'll… outsourcing?"
Carrera's eyes flew wide. The irises swiveled like twin turrets to focus on the girl. "Say that again."
"Outsourcing. You know, where you hire outside…"
"I know what it means." A trace of excitement crept into his voice, along with some self-contempt. "I have many flaws, Lourdes. One of these is pride. One of the effects of that pride is a tendency not to look outside myself or whatever group I control for help when I need it. Lourdes, go wake Dan, would you? Then call the airport and get me a flight for ummm… where the hell did I read Abogado had settled down to? Ah, I recall. I need a flight for Phoenix Rising, in the Federated States. Hmmm. For the day after tomorrow, I think. Lastly, make me an appointment for tomorrow afternoon with a corporate law firm in Ciudad Balboa."
Lourdes nodded and got up to go.
Carrera held up a hand to stop her. "And Lourdes? Neither I nor all my damned geniuses could come up with that trick. But you did. Thank you."
Unsure as to quite why, Lourdes felt a bounce in her step and happiness in her heart as she left the kitchen.
City Recycling Plant,
Phoenix Rising,
Oglethorpe, FSC, 23/9/459 AC
Some things in human civilization are eternal. Among these is the tedious, tiresome and, above all, odiferous task of waste disposal. Carrera could smell the plant from five miles away. Worse, the speed of the auto was greater than olfactory fatigue could deal with. The stink only grew worse.
Nor had it ended by the time he was invited into the office of Major General (Retired) Kenneth Abogado.
"It was good of you to see me, General, on such short notice," Carrera said, "and especially right after Thanksgiving."
General Abogado merely smiled. (Though perhaps "shit-eating grin" described the smile better.) He smiled first because it pleased him to be remembered as a soldier and as a general officer; not everyone with whom he came in contact had the good manners to do so. He smiled second that an offer had been made to him-better said, suggested to him-that might, just might, help him escape from the constant smell of human shit being recycled. Life had been hard for Abogado since leaving the army-hard, disappointing and degrading.
"My name is Pat Hennessey, though I go by Carrera now. I doubt you remember me, but we've met."
Abogado frowned in concentration. He stared for a moment at Carrera's eyes.
"I remember now," he said. "You're the one who lectured me when you were a lieutenant on the problems with subcaliber ranges; how the other full scale things that visible ruined the training effect.
"And you had the beautiful wife," he announced, remembering a single dance at a single officers' event with the single most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
"Yes. The general has a good memory. As for my wife… 'had' is the word," Carrera said bitterly. "In a way that's why I am here."
Abogado started to open a desk drawer where he kept a pistol. Then he remembered he had never even considered trying to sleep with this man's wife. He closed the drawer and relaxed.
Carrera explained to Abogado, coldly-no tears now, no emotion showing through his armor-what had happened to his family.
"Son, that's a tough break," was all Abogado could say.
"Very tough," Carrera agreed, nodding. "Nor am I going to just take it. But I seem to have hit a wall." In a few sentences he explained what he had done to date in Balboa and what he was trying to do.
"I have several problems, but only one of those can you help me with."
"Help? How?"
"You are familiar with Professional Military Personnel Resources and what they do?"
"I know about them," Abogado spat out bitterly. "They shut me out. Just shut me out. And me the best trainer of infantry in the goddamned army, too."
"I'm not a huge fan of PMPR, either, General. And yes, you were very good," Carrera agreed. "Would you like the chance to train soldiers again?"
Ordinarily Abogado would have played a little hard to get, to sweeten the deal, whatever it was. However, at about that time the wind outside shifted and an overpowering whiff of recycled and recycling human feces assaulted his nose. "Where do I sign?"
"Not so simple," Carrera cautioned. "You haven't even heard what I need."
"Seems obvious. You need someone to train and lead an expeditionary force."
Carrera sighed. He hated to disappoint the old man. A bastard Abogado may have been, but he'd been very kind and patient with up-and-coming lieutenants. Yet… Abogado was old. He might have been quite something in his younger days. Indeed, he had been quite something. But he could never stand that kind of pace again.
Carrera sighed and shook his head again. "No, sir. We have a commander already. And a deputy. And a staff. What I need is a school. You have done that, and done it very well. That's why I am here; to offer to let you do so again."