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straight answer from the powers that be.
It was not forthcoming. The official debriefings were preshaped pellets of
non-news that stressed the suddenness of the attack on Chau Sara, hailed Duke
and the
Norad II
crew as heroes for standing up to the enemy, and claimed that only the
ever-watchful vigilance of the Confederacy could protect Mar Sara.
The Protoss (still no idea where the name came from) were portrayed as cowards
who folded at the first sign of a real fight. The delicate if impressive
nature of their lightning-charged ships confirmed that notion:
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they fled because they were afraid to be hit.
That was the story, anyway, and the marines were sticking with it. In fact, if
anyone in the press pool wandered too far from the official version, their
reports suddenly started getting lost in transmission. That kept most of the
locals in line. They were all issued passes with bar codes that were supposed
to be presented upon demand. And, Mike knew, to keep tabs on their
whereabouts.
All of the other newshounds knew Liberty s story from aboard the
Norad II, but no one had yet tried to use any of the information in their own
reports.
In the outside world, a planetary lockdown was in force. Officially a civilian
protection measure (to quote the official press release), it was effectively a
military overthrow of the local government. The locals were being herded into
concentration points for supposedly easier evacuation. No mention was made of
where the evacuating ships would come from, or even if there was a timetable
for abandoning the planet.
In the meantime, there were marine patrols on every corner, and those citizens
who remained in the city were looking very, very nervous.
In the absence of anything reportable, the newshounds hung out at the large
café in front of the Grand
Hotel, played cards, waited for the next official news-like release, and
speculated madly. Mike, bedecked in his duster, lounged with them, looking
more like a native than any of the others.
 Man, I don t think there are any aliens at all, said Rourke between hands of
poker. Rourke was a big redhead with a craggy scar across his forehead.  I
think the Sons of Korhal finally found enough tech to avenge the nuking of
their homeworld.
 Bite your tongue, said Maggs, a crusty old bird from one of the local
dailies.  Even joking about the
Korholes is enough to get you shot.
 So you have a theory, man? countered Rourke.
 They re human, but not our type of human, said the old reporter.  They re
from Old Earth. I figure that while we were gone they got so wrapped up in
genetic purity and such that they are nothing but clones now, and that they ve
come after us to clear out the rest of the race.
Rourke nodded.  I heard that one. And Thaddeus from the
Post thinks they re robots, and they have some programming that prevents them
from defending themselves. That s why they booked out when the
Norad took them on.
 You re all wrong, said Murray, a stringer from one of the religious
networks.  They re angels, and
Judgment Day has arrived.
Both Rourke and Maggs made derisive noises, then Rourke said.  What about you,
Liberty? What do you think they are?
 All I know is what I saw, Mike said.  And what I saw was that whatever they
are, they liquefied the surface of the planet next door, and they could be
here faster than the Confederacy could react. And we re here at ground zero,
playing cards.
A pall hung over the table for a moment, and even Murray the holy stringer was
quiet. Finally Rourke let out a long breath and said,  You Tarsonis boys sure
know how to squelch a good party. You in or out for the next deal?
Mike suddenly sat up, staring intently out into the road. Despite themselves,
Murray and Rourke
swiveled in their chairs but could see only the usual handful of marines in
the street, some in combat armor, some in regulation uniform.
 Quick, Rourke. Give me your press credentials, Mike said.
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The big redhead instinctively grabbed the tags around his neck as though they
were a life preserver.  No way, man. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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