Free Spinneret by Timothy Zahn Page A

Ceres.” The list was short, and Carmen ran through it as quickly and precisely as she could. When she was finished, Meredith grunted again.
    â€œAs it happens, I’m still considering what to do with Major Dunlop,” he said. “Relieving him of command is one possibility, but I’m not going to be rushed in my decision—certainly not by some transplanted professional troublemaker.”
    Carmen frowned. “Sir?”
    â€œOh, you didn’t know? Your friend Perez is one of the new breed of college-educated Hispanic Rights activists crowding the landscape these days. Sort of a newcomer to the field, but damn good at it—has one of those golden oratory styles that turns crowds and liberal media inside out. I don’t know who the iron-head was who approved him for Astra, but I intend to get him disapproved and sent back to Arizona as soon as I can.”
    â€œI see.” Perez’s presence here was starting to make sense—perhaps on more than one level. “Colonel … have you given any more thought to the idea of setting up a citizen advisory council? I think it might ease the tension if you announced—”
    â€œMiss Olivero.” Meredith’s voice was soft and excruciatingly patient. “The farm work in Crosse is three days behind schedule, work on Martello’s landing field is being interrupted while Major Brown tries to figure out whether we should be building defenses against that Rooshrike mining group two planets over, and about thirty percent of my troops are currently tied up with civil peacekeeping duty. I’ll tell you just once more: we cannot spare the man-hours a farce like that would cost. Is that clear?”
    â€œYes, sir,” she said between rigid lips.
    â€œGood. You can tell Perez you delivered his message—and the next time he has something to say, he can write me a note. Dismissed.”
    Silently, Carmen got to her feet and left the room, resisting the urge to slam the door behind her. Of course an advisory council would use up time—but so did civil unrest. In the long run the good such councils did nearly always outweighed their costs; she’d seen the studies that proved it. Why wouldn’t the colonel at least give the idea a fair hearing? Was he simply allergic to civilian politics, like so many other career officers she’d known? Or—
    Or was it because she was a Hispanic?
    â€œExcuse me, miss?”
    She came to an abrupt halt and focused for the first time on the man who had stepped between her and the outer office door. “Yes, ah—?” she said, trying to figure out where she’d seen him before.
    â€œI’m Dr. Peter Hafner,” he identified himself. “Geologist. I saw you with Colonel Meredith the second night here, when I came to ask about the grounded flyers.”
    The memory clicked. “Yes, of course. You wanted to study Mt. Olympus.”
    â€œRight. Well, I’ve been trying to see the colonel about getting one of them—they’re back in service, but I’m way down on the list.”
    Carmen shot a glance at Meredith’s secretary, caught the other’s look of strained patience. She’d once worked as a secretary herself. … “Tell you what,” she said to Hafner. “Let’s go to the lounge and you can tell me why a car or plane won’t do. Maybe we can work out something.”
    â€œWell …” Hafner’s eyes flicked behind her to Meredith’s door. “Okay.”
    He didn’t wait for them to reach the lounge, but launched into his spiel before they were even out the door. “Let me remind you first of all why an examination of Olympus is so important. For whatever mysterious reason, there appears to be little or no metal content anywhere in the first five hundred meters of Astra’s crust, if the Rooshrike data can be trusted. A volcano like Olympus gives us a sampling of the deeper