destroy the crops that belonged to the three escaped rebels.
Two of them were coffee planters, so Julian ordered his people to uproot the bushes and leave them in place; presumably they could be replanted the next day.
The third man’s “crop” was the town’s only hardware store. If Julian had asked, they probably would have been ordered to torch it. So he didn’t ask; he and three others just broke down the doors and threw all of the merchandise out on the street. Let the town decide whether they would respect the man’s belongings.
Most of the town was tired of dealing with the soldierboys by now, and had gotten the message that the machines weren’t going to kill anyone unless provoked. Still, two ambitious snipers came in with lasers and had to be shot, but the soldierboys were able to use tranquilizing darts.
Park, the platoon’s new homicidal addition, gave Julian some trouble there. He argued against using the darts—which technically was insubordination under fire, a court-martial offense—and then when he did take aim with the dart, he aimed for the sniper’s eye, which would have been fatal. Julian monitored that just in time to send a mental shout, “Cease fire!” and reassign the sniper to Claude, who tranked him in the shoulder.
So as a show of force, the mission was reasonably successful, though Julian wondered what the sense of it was. The townspeople would probably see it as bullying vandalism. Maybe he should have torched the store and sterilized the two farmers’ lands. But he hoped the restrained approach would work better: with his laser he wrote a scorched message on the whitewashed wall of the hardware store, translated by Psychops into formal Spanish: “—By rights, twelve of you should perish for the twelve of us you killed. Let there not be a next time.”
* * *
when i came home Tuesday night there was a note under my door:
Darling,
The gift is beautiful. I went to a concert last night just so I could dress up and show it off. Two people asked who it was from, and I was enigmatic: a friend.
Well, friend, I’ve made a big decision, I suppose in part a present to you. I’ve gone down to Guadalajara to have a jack installed.
I didn’t want to wait and discuss it with you because I don’t want you to share the responsibility, if something should go wrong. My mind was actually made up by a news item, which I’ve put on your queue as “law.jack.”
Basically, a man in Austin got jacked and fired from his administrative job, then challenged the antijack clause under Texas job discrimination laws. The court ruled in his favor, so at least for the time being, it’s professionally safe for me to go ahead and do it.
I know all about the physical danger, and I also know how unseemly it is for a woman of my years and position to take that risk because of what amounts to jealousy: I can’t compete with your memory of Carolyn and I can’t share your life the way Candi and the others do—the women you swear you don’t love.
No arguments this way. I’ll be back on Monday or Tuesday. Do we have a date?
Love,
Amelia
I read it over twice and then ran for the phone. There was no answer at her place. So I played back the other messages, and got the one I most feared:
“Señor Class, your name and number were given to us by Amelia Harding as a person to be reached in case of emergency. We are also contacting a Professor Hayes.
“Profesora Harding came here to the Clínica de cirugía restorativa y aumentativa de Guadalajara to have a puente mental, what you call a jack, installed. The operation did not go well, and she is completely paralyzed. She can breathe without help, and responds to visual and auditory stimuli, but cannot speak.
“We want to discuss various options with you. Señora Harding listed your name in lieu of next of kin. My name is Rodrigo Spencer, chief of la división quirúrgica para instalación y extracción de implantas craniales—Surgical Unit for Installation and Removal of Cranial Implants.” He gave his number and the address.
That message was Sunday night. The next was from Hayes, Monday, saying he’d checked my schedule and wouldn’t do anything until I got home. I took time for a quick shave and called him at home.
It was only ten, but he answered no-face. When he heard it was me, he turned on the screen, rubbing