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Ediyak and Duvalier set down their trays and Ahn-Kha tucked in his elbows. He was relieved to see Duvalier. She'd gone south again with the Wolves to see what the Kurians were doing with that tower.
"I dropped by Cutthroat Room last night," Duvalier said. "It reeked of his hairness's Grog farts, so I didn't knock."
"Any news?" Valentine asked.
Valentine dragged himself back to the present. "They've still got the ground occupied. I didn't see any work. I grabbed some mail I found on a car seat, nothing but the usual Atlanta snow shower of forms. DFSs and PCQs and RMVTs, whatever all those are."
"Ediyak, you were in the Georgia Control, right?"
"Sounds like personnel forms, sir. Everyone has a thick file. Health, work, and personal assessments."
"Assessments," Duvalier said. "Make an ass out of men, or something like that."
"Tell me more," Valentine said. He pushed his meat ration onto Duvalier's tray-she looked like she needed it. He wanted to force her to eat out of sheer boredom, so he'd keep Ediyak talking about paperwork if he had to.
"First, there's your HSA-Health Status Assessment. That happens every three years for twenty-to-forties, every two years for forty-to-fifties, and every year after. I'm not so hot on that-stress. My blood pressure's up. Normally, what would save me is my PQW-Performance Quality Workload. But I've been out here in the north of beyond for the last six months, so my CRI-Community Responsibility Index-is shot to shit. They don't make allowances for being a hundred and fifty miles from the nearest VETAMIN-that's a Volunteer Effort Task Association Municipal Infrastructure Node, for those of you who don't know Atlanta acronyms."
Ahn-Kha crunched on eggshells. "It gives me a headache. The poor people who keep track of all that nonsense."
"What do you think of all that, Ali?"
She swallowed the mouthful she'd been idly chewing, winced as it hit her stomach. "They left a couple letters out by oversight. Typical Atlanta spreadshit. Back in Kansas once a year the doc just stuck a piece of wood on your tongue, a finger up your ass, and some salad tongs piloting the oyster bed. If you passed for female, that is."
"Oyster bed?" Ediyak said, puckering her tiny nose.
"Slang Val and I picked up when we were on the Gulf Coast, passing for married. Not that mine's been much explored lately. Hey, Fuzzy, want to go pearl diving later?"
"Only for these," Ahn-Kha said, pulling another egg from the salt water.
"One thing, though, Val," Duvalier said, turning serious. "The Control's stepped up their patrols. Some planes were buzzing around too. I heard engines overhead day and night. They don't want any more raids."
"Do the engines circle over the tower?"
Duvalier switched from the alleged sausages to more reliable-and digestible-toast. "No, they went off and came back."
"Could be they're getting ready for a raid of their own. I think we'd better see if Gamecock can send half his Bears to back up the Wolves," Valentine said. He had better report this to Lambert right after breakfast.
When the women finished their food and left, Valentine told Ahn-Kha about his people.
Lambert held an officer's call over dinner that night. She passed the word that she wanted to talk about the threat from the Georgia Control.
They use the old formal dining room of the mansion. The woodwork here was left untouched by Southern Command whittlers, probably because all the ornate decor reminded them of a funeral parlor.
Ahn-Kha came along and brought an appetite, but couldn't fit his legs under the table, so he sat on a window bench and looked out over the east lawn of the mansion. A headquarters rooster led his hens in an exploration of the terraced landscape.
The lamb and spring potatoes with rosemary were good. For dessert, they had hand-cranked ice cream. Valentine avoided the wine and had a stainless tumbler full of milk.
"I find," Lambert said, when the dessert and small talk over coffee began to drag, "that it's easier to solve a problem if you can define it. Anyone want to take a shot at defining the problem?"
By tradition, heads turned toward the junior officer, who was usually allowed to speak first. Valentine suspected that the tradition predated Southern Command. It prevented the lower ranks from keeping silent during a meeting and just agreeing with the superiors.
Glass, now the Sergeant Major for the entire battalion, attended the officer's call for reasons of courtesy and efficiency.
"Atlanta's moving in on Kentucky," Ediyak said, speaking as the junior.
"Anyone heard otherwise?" Lambert asked.
The staff sat silent.
