The Lotus Eaters

Quarters 39, Fort Williams, Balboa

So far as he was aware, Colonel Muñoz-Infantes didn't have a single reason to worry about much of anything. Oh, yes, that skinny frog, Janier, had it in for him, but no more than he, the Castilian, had it in for the frog and the Tauran Union. Yes, he was passing information to the other side, but that was an old Tauran tradition, and something the bureaucrats who ran the place would be loathe to curtail. Besides, he was Castilian, and the frogs had no real authority over him. This phenomenon was one of the reasons that the Tauran Union was so militarily ineffective, even though its individual armies were generally quite capable in battle when allowed to be. Though there were rumors, persistent rumors, of a change to this that would create a unified armed forces with a unified chain of command and legal code.

"I can't see that happening, though," the colonel told Victor Chapayev. "We're Taurans; we all hate each other, deep down. I mean . . . maybe if we had an outside enemy threatening us. Maybe."

Maria, the colonel's daughter, hadn't yet stalked off as she usually did. Instead she sat quietly on a chair opposite her father and Victor. Her father had had a very long and not particularly pleasant chat with her on the subjects of rudeness, honor, and the duties owed to one's father and one's guests. She still thought that the work Victor was engaged in was vile, even if he seemed nice enough.

"On the other hand," the colonel continued, "we've got an inside enemy—the bureaucrats of the TU—and that hasn't brought us together."

"The Tauran Union is not the enemy, father," Maria said, heat in her voice. "It's all that's kept us at peace since the Great Global War."

"So say the schools that propagandized you since you were a girl," her father answered, calmly. "Personally, I think it was a combination of Federated States occupation troops and the external threat of the Red Tsar that kept us from each others' throats and that the TU was a beneficiary of that but had absolutely nothing to do with causation."

Best not to take sides, Victor, Chapayev told himself, though the colonel is clearly right.

"And then there's the corruption that permeates . . ."

"I'll get it, father," Maria said, rising to answer a knock at the door. Anything to cut off another of these TU rows, she thought.

"No, never mind," Muñoz-Infantes insisted, likewise rising. "I'll get it. It's probably business anyway."

He walked to the door and undid the latch. As soon as he had, the door swung open hard, knocking the colonel to the floor. Victor stood and Maria screamed. Both stopped, the one in caution and the other in deer-in-the-headlights panic when presented with an armed group of men in Castilian battle dress pushing into the living room, and the muzzles of pistols pointed in their direction.

"Colonel Muñoz-Infantes," said one of the pistoleros, "you are under arrest for . . ."

At that, Maria fainted.

* * *

The colonel was being dragged down the walkway when Maria came to. Chapayev made sure she was all right, then reached under his uniform tunic to take his service pistol in hand.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Didn't you notice that those men were in your country's uniform but had the local accent? That was no legitimate arrest."

"Bu . . . but why?"

"That I don't know, but I do know your father's been a good friend to me and I'm not going to see him dragged off by fakes." Victor looked around and ordered, "Get into the kitchen, behind the refrigerator. I'm going to go get your father."

"But there were three of them, and there's only one of you."

"There are probably four of them. So? Trust me; they're toast." Chapayev stood and ran for the side door.