Starfist: FlashFire Read Free Page A

salon?” Barber hooted.
    Once more, Einna Orafem ignored the rudeness of the remark and went on. “I have come to see if the modest repast I prepared for you met with your satisfaction.” She looked at the empty platters and serving bowls. “Judging from the state of the table, I take it it has.”
    There was a brief pause as the Marines translated for each other: “She wants to know if the chow was any good.”
    “Hey, babe, that was the best feed I’ve ever had in this slop chute!” Taylor called out.
    “Honey, you can stuff my sausage any day,” Chan yelled.
    “No, it’s your sausage that’s supposed to stuff her . . .” The rest of whatever Claypoole was saying was cut off by the finger Jente quickly pressed across his lips. Unlike the other young women around the table, Jente wasn’t one of “Big Barb’s girls.” She was from Brystholde, a nearby fishing village from which many young women had come to a blowout party Brigadier Sturgeon threw for his FIST when they returned from a major deployment against Skinks on the Kingdom of Yahweh and His Saints and Their Apostles. First Sergeant Myer had strongly admonished the Marines of Company L that the village women were “nice girls,” and were to be treated the way they’d want their sisters treated. Of

course, Top’s warning could not stop Jente from latching onto Claypoole and behaving just like one of Big Barb’s girls—but only with him. Claypoole didn’t realize it yet, but Jente saw him as prime husband material.
    “Come and join us when Big Barb lets you off kitchen duty!” Pasquin called to Einna Orafem’s brilliant red face.
    “Here is a dessert I prepared specially for you,” the cook managed, waving a wavering hand at the cart.
    The helpers opened the cart and joined her in a hasty retreat to the kitchen. But first they had to run the gauntlet of the common room.
    “Wazza madda, dolly,” someone shouted, “didn’t they want what you were offering?” “Yours ain’t good enough for them corporals?” another Marine shouted. Uproarious laughter broke out at the comments. “She’s the cook, ” Schultz growled. Everybody close enough to hear his growl shut up.
    Jente was the only one fastidious enough while gobbling the dessert to really notice what it was.
     
    CHAPTER TWO
    “Who in the hell is that idiot with his mouth hanging open?” Madam Chang-Sturdevant asked, coming halfway out of her chair as she stared at the image on the vid screen.
    “Um, that, Madam President, is ah, the Fort Seymour staff duty officer, that is, the officer who was staff duty officer on the day the ah, ‘incident’ occurred,” Huygens Long, the Attorney General answered, glancing at Marcus Berentus and Admiral Porter for confirmation. “You can see by his badges of rank he’s a lieutenant colonel in the army.”
    “That’s correct, ma’am,” Porter said. “Mr. Long’s investigation is not complete yet, so we don’t know all the particulars.”
    The camera now took in a ragged line of soldiers standing and crouching behind a low stone wall and then panned a long view of the human carnage that lay in the street in front of them. It zoomed in for close-ups of the bodies and Chang-Sturdevant gasped in horror. “Why did we not know about this immediately after it happened?” she asked. Then: “That’s enough, Marcus, I don’t want to see any more.” She put a hand to her face and bowed her head. “Our soldiers did that?” she gestured at the now blank vid screen.
    “Yes, ma’am,” Long answered. “The entire incident was filmed by a crew the demonstration organizers invited to cover it. Our troops were unprepared for what happened, so we have no visual record of what they saw. Then the government of Ravenette immediately released the vid to every news agency in the Confederation,” he shrugged. “Their formal protest did not reach us via diplomatic channels until several days after the film was shown via all the Confederation