Free Posleen War: Sidestories The Tuloriad by John Ringo, Tom Kratman Page B

render them, releasing their souls. That shouldn't take long. The thresh we can place in one or more of the hibernation chambers.
    “The next priority will be a dual one; repairing the breaches to the hull and interior and bringing the engines and controls back on line. Then we bring up life support.”
    “Ah . . .” Binastarion interrupted, “couldn't we do more repairs, faster, with life support on line, rather than wearing these cumbersome suits?”
    “Yes,” Tulo agreed. “Yet this boneyard is not so far from the humans that we can be sure we won't have to suddenly jump to keep from being blasted to bits. I don't want to have to make that jump until we're as ready as possible. The best way I can think of to ensure that is to do nothing detectable until we must.”
    “Ah. Concur.”
    “I thought you might.”
    “And so, kessentai and kessenalt, if you will follow me,” Golo said, moving to stand by the door to the tunnel."
    “You really think it's a good idea to let these people loose again?” Argzal asked. “I mean, considering the damage they've done?” The Himmit lay on his back on the captain's couch, twiddling all eight thumbs.
    “I think it's not only a good idea,” Aelool answered. “It's also necessary. Moreover, it's simply the right thing to do.”
    “Potentially necessary, I can see. The universe is an uncertain place, at best. Necessary, at least, if they can breed quickly enough to field a good sized force against the unknown.”
    “They can,” Aelool said. “It's their curse.”
    The Himmit continued, “But the right thing to do? What does anyone owe the Posleen? What do the Indowy owe the Posleen?”
    “That, friend Himmit, is a very long and involved story. Suffice to say that our peoples were not always enemies, nor the Posleen always such as they have been of late.”
    I probably know more of that story than you do, Indowy, thought Argzal.

Chapter Six
    Joy is the most infallible sign of the presence of God.
    —Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, S.J.
    Anno Domini 2019
    Isla Contadora, Republic of Panama
    It had been a long engagement, but well worth it.
    Just off the coast, a heavy cruiser's gun turrets swiveled in no discernable pattern, even while the guns themselves raised up and fell and the ship's AZIPOD drive twisted to port and starboard regularly.
    Near the beach, a small bungalow rang and shivered with an artificial woman's happy cries.
    Eventually, the cries let off, even as the turrets straightened, the guns stabilized, and the AZIPODs went dormant. Back on shore, a man whose task it was in life to keep the beaches clean for the tourists shook his head and said, “Madre de Dios, I hope them fucking guns got no shells. Or at least nothing but blanks.”
    “His Holiness will, so I predict, have a very difficult time of it in seventy-five years,” Dwyer said, as he lay on his back with the head of a very thoroughly satisfied Sally resting on his chest.
    “Why is that?” she asked. “I mean . . . he's the ultimate, unassailable, infallible boss, isn't he?” Even though she liked the Pope, personally, Sally's tone was anything but respectful of the notion.
    “Because some genies just can never be put back in the bottle, once released,” he answered, ignoring her sarcasm. “And sex is more powerful than any genie.”
    “Oh. If that's a compliment, I accept.”
    “If you accept, then it was a compliment.”
    Sally lifted her head up, then slammed it down on the priest's chest. Hard. “Bastard.”
    “Not so,” Dwyer corrected. “My mother and father were married. At least before I was born, they were. Not all of those present can say that.”
    “I didn't have a mother or father,” Sally said. Her voice seemed very sad, sad enough that Dwyer thought he'd hurt her.
    “I'm sorry,” he said. “That was uncalled for.”
    She shrugged. “It's not what you think,” she answered. “I don't miss what I never knew. But . . . I don't have role models, for when we