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On a hunch, he looked up. The sky wore its usual bands of colors: pale green, yellow, a bit of blue and red. The spores were thick outside the force-dome, and there were some small clouds of the stuff floating around inside the energy shield, up high, but nowhere near enough to cause a health hazard.

Could the blast have come from outside the dome, somehow? He shook his head. That made no sense—if anything, it was hotter outside, not colder.

Kaird slowly continued on his way. Something strange had just happened and its cause was unknown—now.

But he would make it his business to know it. Soon.

10

The announcement came over the hypersound speakers, sounding as if a quiet voice were speaking privately to each sentient being in the base. The announcer, however, was an Ugnaught, and his thick, Basic-mangling accent made it hard to decipher the words.

“Att’ntion. In t’ree local days Hol’Net ’N’tainmen’, in, uh, collab—collab’ration wit’ da R’public Mil’tary Ben’fit As—so—ciation, brings you Jasod Revoc and His G’lactic Revue, you bet. Wit’ Epoh Trebor, Lili Renalem, Annloc Yerj, Eyar Marath, an’ Figrin D’an an’ da Modal Nodes, yar.”

Uli, who was examining a cephaloscan readout on his handheld, frowned and looked at Jos. “What did he say?”

“He said the carnival is coming to town. The troops are going to be entertained—and so are we, theoretically. Unless, of course, we’re in here playing mix-and-match with various viscera.” Jos gestured to the FX-7 on duty to take over the resectioning of the trooper on the gurney before him. It had taken him nearly forty-five minutes to remove all the shrapnel that had been embedded in the clone’s mediastinum. Shrapnel extraction was the cause of nearly all the invasive work done in the Rimsoo—far more than slugthrower fire, sonic disruption trauma, vibroblades, or anything else from the murderous catalog that was ground war in a jungle. He figured he’d probably pulled a good ten kilos of twisted, seared metal from the insides of various troopers. The damage was always horrific. A chunk of durasteel traveling at near-sonic speed hit a body’s midsection like a hunger-maddened reek, and chewed it up even worse.

“I don’t know about you,” he continued, “but I am sorely in need of some laughs. Revoc’s people perform pretty well, I hear.” He grinned at Uli. “Of course, the kind of music they play might seem a little stodgy for your taste…”

“I’m always up for a good band,” Uli said. “Leap-jump, like that. My big goal now is to find a date— preferably carbon-based, humanoid, and female, though after three weeks here I’m learning not to be so picky.”

Jos nodded thoughtfully as he stripped off his gloves and gown in the postop chamber. Had it really been three weeks since Uli had arrived? He realized that he hadn’t thought of Zan lately, and felt a pang of self-reproach. Why? he asked himself. Any good physician knows that loss heals eventually—grief is a process. Zan would have wanted it that way. Still, he felt obscure guilt. The truth was that Uli, despite his youth, made a pretty good cube mate. He was neat, and his tidiness had inspired Jos to be a bit more mindful of the immediate environment as well, so that the walls were no longer furry to the touch, at least. He certainly had a different perspective on a lot of things than Jos, but, unlike most people his age, he wasn’t at all dogmatic in his beliefs. The two had had interesting conversations about everything from galactic politics to favorite Coruscant restaurants; Jos preferred the elegant—and expensive— Zothique, while Uli was partial to a greasy spoon called Dex’s Diner. No doubt about it, the new had helped ease the passing of the old.

Three weeks. It had been nearly that long since Admiral Kersos had taken over. His great-uncle had yet to meet Tolk, save briefly in the OT—various administrative duties had kept Kersos orbitside in the MedStar frigate for much of that time—and Jos had been making efforts to keep them apart. Even though Kersos