Xingha was the staging area for the troops on the Western Wing: a battalion of the Slammers and more than ten thousand of the local Han troops the mercenaries were supporting.
The city's dockyard district had a way to go before it adapted to the influx of soldiers,but it was doing its manful, womanly, childish, and indeed bestial—best to accommodate the sudden need. Soon the entertainment facilities would reach the universal standard to which war sinks those who support the fighters; in all places, in every time.
Sergeant Samuel Des Grieux had seen the pattern occur often during his seven years in the Slammers. He could describe the progression as easily as an ecologist charts the process by which lakes become marshes, then forests.
Des Grieux didn't care one way or the other. He drank what passed for beer; listened to a pair of Oriental women keen,
"Hey,is there anybody here from Golf Company?"asked a trooper,obviouslya veteran but wearing new-issue khaki. His hair was in a triple ponytail, according to whim or the custom of some planet unfamiliar to Des Grieux. The fellow was moving from one table to the next in the crowded cantina. Just now, he was with a group of H Company tankers next to Des Grieux, bending low and shouting to be heard over the music and general racket.
"Hey, lookit that," said Pesco, Des Grieux's new driver. He pointed to the flat, rear-projection screen in the corner opposite the singers."That's Captain Broglie, isn't he? What's he doing on local video?"
"Who bloody cares?" Des Grieux said. He finished his beer and refilled his glass from the pitcher.
If you tried, you could hear Broglie's voice—though not that of the Han interviewer—over the ambient noise. Despite himself, Des Grieux found himself listening.
"Hey,Johnnie,"chirped a woman in a reddress as shedraped her arm around Des Grieux's shoulders. She squeezed her obviously padded bosom to his cheek.
She was possibly fourteen, probably younger. "Buy me a drink?"
"Out,"said Des Grieux,stiff-arming the girl into the back of a ma at the next table. Des Grieux stared at the video screen, getting cues from Broglie's lips to aid as he fitted together the shards of speech.
