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"You know what's in those cells, Major," Frat said. "Human litter. Petty criminals, terminally ill. They'll slow us up."
Valentine thought back on his own days as a Wolf lieutenant, when he'd been upbraided for what his old captain called "rounding up strays." More trouble than they're worth, Valentine.
"Denial of resources, Lieutenant," Valentine said. "The Kurian wants them. That's enough of a reason for us to try to take them away."
"Perhaps," Major Grace began, "perhaps we could do our part by just setting them loose."
"For the Reapers to hunt down?"
"If it keeps them off us," Grace said.
"You ever heard the expression 'Whoever saves one life, saves a world entire'?" Valentine asked.
"I'm not sure. Is that some maxim of that Quisling churchman?"
"Older than that. How about 'Go fuck yourself'?"
"That's insubordination!"
"I was only asking if you'd heard it," Valentine said.
Valentine noticed lights on in the old prison. Had the Kurian Lord already begun gathering an aura supply?
He might even have slipped in, but finding him, let alone killing him, in such a large complex would be difficult without surrounding the prison with flamethrowers and having the men burn their way to the center.
For all he knew, there wasn't anyone in there except a couple of Control soldiers cleaning out the animal and plant infestations that had no doubt built up over the years.
"Leave it alone, Val," Duvalier said. "Look at that place. I doubt anyone's in there who isn't fixing a toilet. It would take us two hours, probably, to get there, check the whole place out, and get back. Plus, probably more killing. Now me, I'd go there just to knife a sentry and set fire to it, but I know you'd want to bring out some one-legged senior citizen who lost the last round of musical chairs at the post office."
"Maybe I'll go over and peek in a few windows," Valentine said quietly. "Or not," he said, looking at his radioman, who was working a scrambler radio taken from the armored car that should be able to pick up Georgia Control communications.
"Major Valentine, may I-" Pellwell said.
"Cool your engine, college girl," Duvalier said.
Pellwell drew herself up and ignored the interruption. "You could let me send in the ratbits. They could cover that building in half an hour. If it's in as bad a shape as it looks, they'd have no problem getting in or getting around."
Valentine looked at her charges. They'd found a greasy wrapper caught in a bush, probably blown from the construction landfill, and were sniffing stains.
One looked up at Pellwell and chittered.
"Yes, food soon."
"Do they understand what a uniform is?"
"They know how to tell an armed man from an unarmed one."
"You send them into that building, and if they find any prisoners and count them accurately, I'll buy them a steak dinner. Or whatever their favorite treat is."
She squatted, looking like a grasshopper thanks to her long limbs, and lifted up the biggest ratbit, the one Valentine was calling Patches. She pointed. "That building. Count men. Count soldiers. Very quiet. No steal. No wreck."
Valentine heard it yeek back. She handed out a piece of bacon to each from one of her big leg pouches. The ratbits stuffed them into cheek pouches as Patches chittered at the others.
They bounced off on their oversized hind legs, making Valentine think of a kangaroo he'd seen on a TV documentary in his time with the Coastal Marines.
Pellwell looked anxiously at the sloping ground between the hill and the old prison.
"Worried they'll screw up?" Duvalier asked.
