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catch her rainbow. He checked in, said he was returning to Luna Command, and
glanced over what they had on the girl. An hour later he was headed for the
lakeside launch pits. He drew the same driver. This time the rating regaled
him with a saga concerning his conquest of a pink patch lady. She had loved
him so much she had almost enlisted.
Pink patch people were Old Earthers who worked in the Zone but lived
outside. The uniform patch was their entry permit. Each was Kirlian keyed to
prevent terrorist use.
Perchevski was back in his lunar apartment before bedtime next evening. He
took a pill and put himself out for twelve hours. Old Earth and his mother had
been a miserable mistake.
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He did not check his calls right away. He did not want to risk finding a
summons from the Bureau.
There was none. The only messages were from Max and Greta. Max was missing
him. Greta was scared and lonely and amazed by everything.
Perchevski reacted to Greta s call first He remembered how frightened and
lonely he had been when he had come to Academy. Even hating home, he had been
dreadfully homesick.
He made a call to Academy Information, learned that Greta had been assigned
to a training battalion, but the battalion had not begun training. The
rigorous discipline of Academy would not isolate her for weeks. She could have
visitors. She would be allowed a weekly visit from her sponsor after she began
training.
Things have changed since my day, Lieutenant, he told the woman handling
his call.
Since mine, too, Commander. We re getting soft.
Maybe. Seems like a step in the right direction to me. I ll be there this
evening. I d appreciate it if you d let me surprise her.
Whatever you say, Commander.
Thanks for your time, Lieutenant.
He settled back in his bed, stared at the ceiling, and wondered why he was
sponsoring a kid he hardly knew. Sponsorship was serious business. His
reponsibility under Lunar law equaled that of a parent.
Will you sponsor? the man had asked, and he had responded without thinking.
How could he do right by Greta? In his line of work . . . Maybe Beckhart
would move him to a staff post.
Old buddy, you backed yourself into a corner this time. How do you get into
these things?
Ah, what was the worry? Greta would be locked up in Academy for four years.
She would have no chance for anything but training and study. His sponsorship
would not amount to anything but quotations in her files. She would reach the
age of responsibility before she graduated.
Maybe he knew that unconsciously when he agreed.
He called Max. No answer.
He donned his Commander s uniform and took the high-velocity tube to Academy
Station. The tube passed through the core of the moon. Academy was Farside.
Though he still used the Perchevski name, he had abandoned the Missileman s
uniform after High Command had announced von Drachau s raid. There seemed
little point to the pretense.
The Bureau apparently agreed. No one had called him on it.
The tubeways were the gossip shops of Luna Command. There strangers whiled
away the long transits by dissecting the latest in scandal and rumor. It was
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there that Perchevski first heard the March of Ulant discussed seriously.
Max had talked about it, of course. But Max was a civ. Max had been retailing
fourth-hand merchandise. The people he overheard were Planetary Defense Corps
general staff officers from worlds far centerward of Sol. They were in Luna
Command for a series of high-powered defense strategy seminars.
Cold fear breathed down Perchevski s neck. The what might be debatable, but
he could no longer deny that something spooky was going on.
He had been seeing the colorful and sometimes odd uniforms of the local
forces everywhere he had gone lately. There were even a few from worlds not
part of Confederation.
No wonder there were rumors of war.
He checked in with the local office when he arrived. He was wearing the ring,
of course, but redundancy of action and mistrust of technology were Bureau
axioms. A staff type told a computer terminal where he was, then in boredom
resumed watching a holodrama. He caught a bus to Academy s visitors hotel.
Academy was an almost autonomous fortress-State within the fortress-world of
Luna Command. Nearly ten percent of the moon s surface and volume had been set
aside for the school, which trained every Service officer and almost half of
all enlisted personnel. Academy contained all the staff colleges, war
colleges, and headquarters of special warfare schools which kept the Service
honed to a fighting edge. At times as many as two million people taught and
studied there.
Perchevski had spent eight years in Academy, glimpsing the outside universe
only rarely. Passes had been few in his day. Going out usually meant having to
take part in some very active training exercise. There had been no time left
over for sightseeing.
He was supposed to have graduated as a dedicated, unquestioning Confederation
warrior. He supposed even the best systems made mistakes.
He enjoyed his venture into the old, familiar halls, remembering incidents,
recalling classmates he had not thought of in years. He was amused by all the
bright, freshly scrubbed young faces behind those snappy salutes.
Greta s battalion was quartered not far from the barracks his own had
occupied. He spent an hour ambling through school days memories.
It was late when he located the officer of Greta s Training Battalion. The
date-letter designation on the door could be interpreted to tell that Greta s
was the forty-third officer candidate unit activated in 3047. He whistled
softly. They were taking candidates at a wartime rate.
There must be something to the rumors.
Nothing else would explain why Greta had been assigned to an officer training
unit almost instantaneously.
A rating was closing the office. You the officer looking for the Helsung
girl?
Yes, Chief. Sorry I m late.
The petty officer muttered something sarcastic.
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That attitude going to relay itself to the middies, Chief?
Sorry, sir. It s been a bad day.
Where can I find her?
Alpha Company. Room Twenty-five. We re just starting the battalion, sir.
It s one of your remedials, for candidates without a Service background.
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