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"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.
"Okay, the buildup isn't a feint so they can take over Nashville and Memphis. But why do they think they can move on us?" Lambert asked.
"The Army of Kentucky's still putting itself back together after that ravies outbreak," Captain Patel said. "The legworm ranchers are tough enough when they have to be, but they've got communities and families to think about. They can only play guerilla part of the year."
Valentine remained silent. He had an oddly defined role at the fort-on Southern Command's paperwork he was a corporal of the militia, but in practice he was the executive officer for operations. Everyone called him "Major" and kept up the appearances, despite the fact that his career had been permanently broken by a court-martial verdict years ago. He had some ideas of where Lambert and Ediyak were taking this meeting-they'd quietly consulted his opinion-but while he had an idea of the strategy, the tactics to be employed were still a mystery to him.
Still, he had a role to play. They hadn't exactly fed him his line, but it was time to put in his discussional ante.
"What keeps the Kurians from doing the same thing in Arkansas or Texas?" Valentine asked.
