My Own Kind of Past
30
"Yes, Colonel?" "That's not one of the things I'm worried about. You'll find a way." "And those who won't be convinced?" "They can give up their weapons and go their way." "All right." "And if they act as unauthorized guerillas, they'll be treated as common brigands, and we'll shoot them." "Colonel—" "We can't have it, Sergeant." Mal sighed. "Can they at least keep their sidearms?" "No." "Most of those are their own personal weapons." "Why are we still arguing about what's been decided? Is there anything else?" After a moment, Mal said, "All right . . . sir. I'll have my people here in the morning." Bursa nodded. "And by the afternoon, you'll be in Lieutenant Siro's platoon, at point on the road north of Yeranton." "Trying to get us killed right away, sir?" "Nope. I don't need you killed, I need to keep the Alliance out of Yeranton, so they don't swallow up the one munitions plant we can count on in this gorram world. I need them kept out of there, Sergeant." "All right. We'll do our part." "I know. Pick up a coat and a rifle on your way out." "I have a rifle." "Pick up a new one." "Yes, sir." Eighteen months previous The silky voice said, "Let's try it again, Miss Tam." The silky voice always called her 'Miss Tam.' The sweet voice and the monotonous voice called her "River." The silky voice was the worst. As it spoke, her skin tingled and colors danced in little spots before her eyes—colors that sounded deep and threatening and tasted of salt and gun metal. "Now, Miss Tam, bring the lines together." Only there weren't any lines, there were only dots. "Focus on the lines, Miss Tam." Something twisted inside of her head, and the dots became gray, their sizes pulsated, and she was falling, falling, falling into them. She tried to scream, but there was something in her mouth.