door.
“Open,”
Jason said. As the door whooshed , the
ranger turned to give him a grin.
“It’s
good to see a ranger uniform come through that door for a change,” the
comm-tech said. “Hasn’t been anything but Praetorian guards since morning.” The
flatscreen beeped for attention. The comm-tech rolled his eyes and turned
around. “More bills of lading from the Belden
Traveler ,” he commented, “and still no newsbean. Two full days and nothing
for us, yet.”
Jason
glanced quickly at the traffic register, noticed that the shuttle had been
cleared to land three times during the shift. A typical supply ship would have
shuttled goods only once per rotation, its crew using the ground time to gossip
with the rangers and miners about interesting asides that weren’t in the
newsbeans and to do official and unofficial bartering. No announcement had gone
out over the airwaves to the miners this time, for Belden Traveler was strictly a military transport and its holds
would be empty on the return trip to the Hub. He wasn’t surprised that the
newsbeans hadn’t been brought down yet, not with Calla’s communication
restrictions. Her people hadn’t taken over the comm-room yet; the newsbeans
wouldn’t be sent until they did.
There
was nothing requiring his attention in the traffic register. Jason picked up
the danae observation notes. Those he read with interest.
Again
more danae than usual were present in the terrace garden, some feeding on the
tidbits provided by the Round House kitchen, others observing all the unusual
activity the shuttle landings had caused. The comm-tech noted that all the
danae seemed spellbound by the shuttle flights, eyes turned skyward even before
the official landing request appeared on the flatscreen. A bonded pair were
sighted gliding the thermals toward the Amber Forest, a pair that hadn’t been
seen since fall when they flew south. Jason hoped a few more danae of the Amber
Forest population would yet return now that winter was truly over.
He
kept count of the returning migration; last year seven danae failed to return.
The miners complained that the returning migrations of the unprotected danae
seemed more scant every year. That worried Jason a great deal. He feared they
were dying out, no more able to cope with the increasing cosmic rays than
humans would be without stellerators. Or it could be that the incomplete
reversal of the magnetic poles had disturbed the migration pattern, which might
be even more devastating. There wasn’t enough information to determine if either
assumption was correct. He shook his head and put down the notes.
“Did
you know that there are civilians assigned to this Praetorian research team?”
the comm-tech asked him. The screen was gray now, audios silent, too.
Jason
nodded. “If you saw the roster, there’s only a handful of Praetorian guards.”
“Rumor
has it there’s a full crew of comm-techs,” the ranger comm-tech said. “That can
only mean they plan to man the watches.”
“Rumor?”
Jason said with some amusement. He’d probably scrutinized the personnel data
lists when they came in on the flatscreen, just as he had the bills of lading,
looking for the newsbeans.
Before
the comm-tech could answer, the voice synthesizer at the door started
announcing entry requests of two Praetorians. One of them bore the name of
Jason’s new second, Marmion Andres Clavia. With the ranger comm-tech, Jason looked
through the door. The man with chief brass on his collar was a big, dark-haired
fellow. The tech with him was a tiny blonde woman. “As usual the grapevine is
right,” Jason said to the ranger. “I think this is your relief now.” To the
door, he said, “Open.”
The
Praetorians saluted snappily, and Jason returned the greeting. There was no
need to exchange names; criers and nomenclators were already at work.
“These
are the inspection reports of the research facility construction,” the chief
said to Jason as he handed over
“Open,”
Jason said. As the door whooshed , the
ranger turned to give him a grin.
“It’s
good to see a ranger uniform come through that door for a change,” the
comm-tech said. “Hasn’t been anything but Praetorian guards since morning.” The
flatscreen beeped for attention. The comm-tech rolled his eyes and turned
around. “More bills of lading from the Belden
Traveler ,” he commented, “and still no newsbean. Two full days and nothing
for us, yet.”
Jason
glanced quickly at the traffic register, noticed that the shuttle had been
cleared to land three times during the shift. A typical supply ship would have
shuttled goods only once per rotation, its crew using the ground time to gossip
with the rangers and miners about interesting asides that weren’t in the
newsbeans and to do official and unofficial bartering. No announcement had gone
out over the airwaves to the miners this time, for Belden Traveler was strictly a military transport and its holds
would be empty on the return trip to the Hub. He wasn’t surprised that the
newsbeans hadn’t been brought down yet, not with Calla’s communication
restrictions. Her people hadn’t taken over the comm-room yet; the newsbeans
wouldn’t be sent until they did.
There
was nothing requiring his attention in the traffic register. Jason picked up
the danae observation notes. Those he read with interest.
Again
more danae than usual were present in the terrace garden, some feeding on the
tidbits provided by the Round House kitchen, others observing all the unusual
activity the shuttle landings had caused. The comm-tech noted that all the
danae seemed spellbound by the shuttle flights, eyes turned skyward even before
the official landing request appeared on the flatscreen. A bonded pair were
sighted gliding the thermals toward the Amber Forest, a pair that hadn’t been
seen since fall when they flew south. Jason hoped a few more danae of the Amber
Forest population would yet return now that winter was truly over.
He
kept count of the returning migration; last year seven danae failed to return.
The miners complained that the returning migrations of the unprotected danae
seemed more scant every year. That worried Jason a great deal. He feared they
were dying out, no more able to cope with the increasing cosmic rays than
humans would be without stellerators. Or it could be that the incomplete
reversal of the magnetic poles had disturbed the migration pattern, which might
be even more devastating. There wasn’t enough information to determine if either
assumption was correct. He shook his head and put down the notes.
“Did
you know that there are civilians assigned to this Praetorian research team?”
the comm-tech asked him. The screen was gray now, audios silent, too.
Jason
nodded. “If you saw the roster, there’s only a handful of Praetorian guards.”
“Rumor
has it there’s a full crew of comm-techs,” the ranger comm-tech said. “That can
only mean they plan to man the watches.”
“Rumor?”
Jason said with some amusement. He’d probably scrutinized the personnel data
lists when they came in on the flatscreen, just as he had the bills of lading,
looking for the newsbeans.
Before
the comm-tech could answer, the voice synthesizer at the door started
announcing entry requests of two Praetorians. One of them bore the name of
Jason’s new second, Marmion Andres Clavia. With the ranger comm-tech, Jason looked
through the door. The man with chief brass on his collar was a big, dark-haired
fellow. The tech with him was a tiny blonde woman. “As usual the grapevine is
right,” Jason said to the ranger. “I think this is your relief now.” To the
door, he said, “Open.”
The
Praetorians saluted snappily, and Jason returned the greeting. There was no
need to exchange names; criers and nomenclators were already at work.
“These
are the inspection reports of the research facility construction,” the chief
said to Jason as he handed over
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