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the remaining sheets. Bunsome thought again of the Dovinite missionary as he
watched Allenby giggle, then frown, then sniff back a tear as he nodded, turning
to the next page. I'm not too old, thought Bunsome. / could apprentice again as
a mason. There are many similarities between priesting and newstelling story-
telling, too. If I ever get back to Momus. He sighed and looked up to see
Allenby, a strange look on his face, holding out the papers. After Bunsome took
the chapter, Allenby stood and walked to the door, then stopped.
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"Bunsome, you will address the company with that chapter at the fourth hour. Be
ready." He .turned and left.
The priest sat staring at the empty door for a few moments, then looked at the
papers in his hand. Shelem's familiar scrawl covered the unlined sheets. Shaking
his head, Bunsome began reading.
At the fourth hour, Bunsome stood on a packing crate in the Bamboo's cargo hold
with the assembled ship's company surrounding him. Humans, Arvanians and
lizards all in parade costume stood silently, waiting for the priest to begin.
Bunsome cleared his throat and began:
It was the two hundred and fourth year of the Baraboo disaster, and the fifth
year of Lord Allenby's office as Great Statesman of Momus. The protection of the
Ninth Quadrant Federation of Habitable Planets, which Allenby once represented
as ambassador, had been withdrawn under orders of the Ninth Quadrant's Council
of Seven to strengthen the defenses near the center of population which had come
under the scrutiny of the Tenth Quadrant's warlords. All that remained were a
scattering of Montagne soldiers who had taken retirements or discharges on
Momus, and the assurances of the United Quadrants that it would come to Momus's
defense in the event the planet suffered an invasion.
As Bunsome read Shelem's words, the months of struggle, pain and suffering
melted until both priest and performers were carried back to that dark hour.
At the same time the last Ninth Quadrant ship abandoned the skies of Momus, Lord
Allenby invited the great masters of the planet to meet. They gathered in
Allenby's quarters
in the town of Tarzcfk and met with representatives of the Montagne soldiers who
had been left behind...
Lord Allenby, seated cross-legged behind his table, let his eyes drift over the
gloomy faces in his quarters. "Any suggestions?" He stopped on the face of a
young man dressed in roustabout's black-and-tan. "Painter? You're the senior
Montagne left on the planet."
Standing behind those seated around Allenby's table, his back against the wall,
the former infantry lieutenant shrugged. "If the intelligence projections
General Kahn supplied you are accurate, the Tenth Quadrant will pile in
mercenaries Arvans probably under some pretext that will give the United
Quadrants a loophole through which the UQ can refuse intervention. When is the
question, but we can count on it being soon."
Allenby rubbed his chin. "The size of the Arvanian force?"
"No more than a battalion. The UQ would have to notice anything larger. But "
Painter dropped his glance. "It should be enough to do the job. They'll be
carrying sustained burst beamers for light weapons and probably pulse beamers
and disruptors for their heavy weapons company. In addition, the Arvans are
tough."
"What about our Montagnes? Aren't there around two hundred on Momus?"
Painter nodded. "About half of them are technical personnel mechanics, medics,
electrical and computer types no more combat qualified than clowns..." Painter
noticed Great Kamera, Master of the f arzak clowns, raising an eyebrow in his
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direction. "No offense, Great Kamera." The lieutenant turned back to Allenby.
"Subtract them, and the ones who are unfit because of age, we have, perhaps, a
dozen combat soldiers equipped with nothing but their bare hands."
"And?"
"And, if this were a problem back at officer's school, I'd pick the better part
of valor and I wouldn't be marked wrong."
"Impossible."
"I know."
"What's the alternative, then, Painter?"
"Guerrilla warfare. Avoid direct confrontations, hit-and-
run, wear them down... make life on Momus Hell for the Arvans..." Painter looked
down and shook his head.
"What is it? What were you about to say?"
Painter pursed his lips, then looked up. "To make it Hell for the Arvans, we
will necessarily make it Hell for ourselves as well. A war such as that is a
contest of spirits guts. To increase the price of conquest to the Arvans, the
people of Momus will have to pay a price. It might take years. They may wear us
out first "
"Hah!" Everyone in the room turned toward Dorum, strongman and Master of the
Tarzak freaks. "Painter. You suggest that Momans lack spirit?" Others in the
room nodded their approval.
Painter rubbed his eyes, then dropped his hand. "I have seen such a war before,
Dorum. It was used against the Montagnes six years ago on Hessif as part of the
rebellion. I saw my company commander blown to pieces by a small child wired as
a walking bomb... she asked him for water." He stood away from the wall. "Do you
have the spirit to wire yourself as a bomb, Dorum? Or, to wire your daughter or
wife? That's what the Hessifs had for spirit, Dorum, and it wasn't enough. We
cracked them. The Montagnes broke the rebellion."
Allenby looked at the lines deepening on the faces in the death-silent room.
"Are there any other suggestions?" No one moved. "Very well, Painter, where do
we begin?"
Oblivious to his battle cruiser, Sword, hurtling toward the planet Momus, Naavon
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