She had a very nice, upper class British accent. Well, of course if anyone's going to survive and keep people alive that person would have a British accent, Ridilla thought. I mean… tradition and all.
"What happened?" he asked, taking the hand and shaking it. "What happened on the Cheng Ho?"
"That's a long story," the woman answered. "And you'd better give me something to drink, something strong to drink, if you want to hear it."
Assuming that the presence of people meant the absence of disease, Ridilla removed the helmet of his enviro-suit. "I'm sorry, I don't have anything like that with me. There's some on the ship. You do want to go home, don't you?"
In answer, the woman laughed. Years fell away from her face, as if she had, perhaps, not laughed in all those years. She asked, "Who do I have to blow? If I never see this miserable place again it will still be too soon."
Chapter Fourteen
Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye,
In every gesture dignity and love.
Casa Linda, 15/7/460 AC
Carrera's first words on awakening were, "My, that was a nice…"
He was never quite sure afterwards which it was that first informed him that he had not been dreaming. Was it the mattress slumped slightly with a another human being? The scent? Some half-remembered details that were just too real to have been a dream? Or perhaps it was that all his dreams for months had been nightmares while the preceding night had definitely not been a nightmare.
How it would turn out, however…
"Lourdes?" he asked, uncertainly.
She sniffled, "Yes?"
Oh, shit. What the hell did I do? He asked her.
"Last night," she answered, "while you were making love to me, you didn't even call out my name. It was like I gave myself to you and it meant nothing." She began to cry in seriousness now.
He reached to her shoulder and pulled, rolling her over to face him. She resisted, initially, pulling her shoulder away. He was not, however, taking no for an answer. He gathered her in his arms and whispered, "It wasn't that. I was-I'm sorry to say-asleep. I don't sleep well, usually, but when I do I could sleep through a barrage. I have. Anyway, I'm really sorry. And I'll make it up to you, as best I can."
Lourdes said nothing. How someone was supposed to make up to her the ruination of what should have been the most special-or perhaps the second most special-event of her life was beyond her. She was angry, she was bitter. Above all, she was hurt.
Carrera continued on, despite her stony silence. "Frankly, Lourdes, I'm glad you came to me last night. Loneliness was killing me and you are… well… simply wonderful. Thank you."
Carrera backed off slightly to push her back onto her back. Then he proceeded to kiss her tears away and show her-without any mistakes with names, this time-that he meant what he said.
And perhaps, she thought, anger lessening, perhaps the hurt will go away if I let it.
Casa Linda, 27/6/460 AC
Carrera, Sitnikov, and half a dozen other Volgan officers sat in the conference room in the basement of the house. These half dozen Volgans had indicated that, while they could not, in good faith to their duties to the motherland, give up their Volgan citizenship, they were willing to stay on in Balboa under contract if they were wanted. They also represented another several dozen Volgans in the same straits. Another one hundred and twenty-one of the Volgan trainers had elected to take Legionary rank and eventual Balboan citizenship- and getting the legislative assembly to approve that had cost another series of bribes-and to accompany the Legio del Cid to al Jahara and Sumer-or wherever, for that matter. Legionaries take their orders and march with them. But if these men, and those they represented, remained citizens of the Volgan Republic, they could not accompany the Legion to a war to which their country was not a party.
Carrera began, "Gentlemen, first of all let me say that I appreciate and respect your decision to remain true to the country of your birth. There is no shame in that. Your absence will be felt when the legion leaves for the desert." Carrera passed around glasses, scotch, and ice as he spoke.
"Nonetheless, you may, if you wish, still remain here in Balboa to work on a few special projects that I have in mind. If you decide to stay, your pay will be commensurate with the LdC pay for the ranks you now hold. I can arrange some longevity increases as you spend more time here, but you will be, for all practical purposes, frozen in your current ranks for the immediately foreseeable future. Can you accept this?"
Carrera looked at the Volgans' faces for a reaction. Seeing no negative indicators from them, he continued. "The second condition is that you must still take an oath to the LdC to give loyal and diligent service. This includes not divulging any of the nature of the work you will do to anyone, ever. This includes divulging to the Volgan Republic. Can you accept that?"
Still the Volgans gave no indication of objection. Indeed, since their whole way of life prior to this had involved the most stringent security procedures, they did not even consider any other possibility. As to whether they would honor those oaths…
Carrera thought, As if they could be trusted not to spill their guts once they go home. Still, my cautioning them may help make them feel they're part of the team and fully trusted. People are odd that way.
Continuing, Carrera said, "Very well then. Colonel Sitnikov has decided to accept our offer of citizenship and equivalent rank. He will be in charge of you in my absence. I thank you for your decision to stay and help us. Dismissed."
When the rest of the Volgans had departed, Carrera explained to Sitnikov what it was he wanted done while the legion was gone. He had learned to trust this particular Volgan, implicitly, over the last half year.
"Aleksandr, there are a number of projects I want your people to work on over the next year or two. Probably two years."
Carrera stood up, walked to the railing of the porch, turned and leaned against it. He continued. "The first project involves the Isla Real. That's the big island in the Bay of Balboa. I want you, personally, to work out how to turn it into a major Initial Entry Training establishment capable of turning out up to thirty thousand trained privates a year, as well as the needed number of specialists, officers and noncoms to lead an army of about three hundred and fifty to three hundred and eighty thousand. I'll send someone over with the table of organization, equipment, and manning to guide you in your planning."
"I've already seen it in rough terms," Sitnikov said. "One of your people showed me. You really think you can turn this place into a nation-in-arms?"
"Maybe not," Carrera answered. "And maybe I won't need to. But it is certain that unless I plan for it, I won't be able to."
Sitnikov's head rocked from side to side, considering. It's true enough, I suppose.
"Don't, repeat don't, try to build anything along those lines," Carrera continued. "I will want you to build, as the money becomes available, a less ambitious facility capable of turning out seventy-five hundred to eight thousand trained privates a year, with other specialty and leadership schools as required.
"Remember, though, all you can do is plan for now. Even to buy the island, or to get the government to condemn it through eminent domain, would cost about half a billion FSD, maybe more. I don't expect to have that kind of money until and unless I can work out a deal with the Feds to hire the legion.
"In any case, let me make this clear: the planning for the building of the smaller training facility is to be open, once we own the island. The plan for expanding it to the larger capacity is to be very close hold. Even more close hold, I want you to plan for turning the island into a genuine fortress, one capable of enduring air attack and defeating amphibious attack by any possible enemy."