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.His orderly mind picked and worried at theunfamiliar term: _ram jet_.Nothing.Neither sign nor name were known prior to the launch, prior to 1978.He rolled the stiffening body over on its back the better to see the face, and knew jarring shock.The black and bloodied face was still twisted in the agony of death.Two or more slugs had torn into theman's midsection, while another had ripped away his throat and showered his face with his own blood; ithad not been instantaneous death.He had died in screaming misery alongside the man next to him, vainlyattempting to break through the fence and take the defenders up the slope.Major Moresby was long used to death in the field; the manner of this man's dying didn't upsethim--but the close scrutiny of his enemy jolted him as he'd not been jolted before.He suddenlyunderstood the crude black cross etched on the yellow field, even though he'd not seen it before today.This was a civilian rebellion-- organ.zed insurrection.Ramjets were Negro guerrillas.The mortar coughed down the slope and Major Moresby burrowed in behind the body.Hewaited impatiently for the round to drop somewhere behind him, above him, and then by God he'd_take_ that mortar.The time was twenty minutes after six in the morning, 4 July 1999.The rising sun burned the horizon.A ramjet mortarman with a shattered ankle peered warily over a tree stump, and counted himselfthe victor.Lieutenant Commander Arthur Saltus23 November 2000Yesterday this day's madness did prepare;Tomorrow's silence, triumph, or despair:Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why;Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.-- Omar KhayyamTHIRTEENSaltus was prepared to celebrate.The red light blinked out.He reached up to unlock the hatch and throw it open.The green lightwent dark.Saltus grasped the two handrails and pulled himself to a sitting position with his head andshoulders protruding through the hatchway.He was alone in the room as he expected to be, but he notedwith mild surprise that some of the ceiling lights had burned out.Sloppy housekeeping.The air was chilland smelled of ozone.He struggled out of the hatch and climbed over the side; the step stool was missingand he slid down the hull to the floor.Saltus reached up to slam shut the hatch, then turned to the locker for his clothing.Another suit belonging to Chaney hung there in its paper sheath waiting to be claimed.He notedthe locker had collected a heavy amount of dust and a fine film of it had even crept inside.Wretchedhousekeeping.When Saltus was dressed in the civvies he had elected to wear, he took out a pint of goodbourbon from its place of concealment in the locker and surreptitiously slipped the bottle into a jacketpocket.He thought he was adequately prepared for the future.Arthur Saltus checked his watch: 11:02.He sought out the electric calendar and clock on the wallto verify the date and time: 23 Nov 00.The clock read 10:55.Temperature was a cold 13 degrees.Saltus guessed his watch was wrong; it had been wrong before.He left the room without a glance at thecameras, secretively holding his hand against the bottle to mask the pocket bulge.He didn't think theengineers would approve of his intentions.Saltus walked down the corridor in eerie silence to the shelter; dust on the floor muffled hisfootfalls and he wondered if William had found that same dust sixteen months earlier.The old boy wouldhave been annoyed.The shelter door was pushed open and the overhead lights went on in automaticresponse--but again, some of them were burned out.Somebody rated a gig for poor maintenance.Saltusstopped just inside the door, pulled the bottle from his pocket and ripped away the seal from the cap.A shout rattled the empty room."Happy birthday!"For a little while, he was fifty years old.Saltus swallowed the bourbon, liking its taste, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand; hestared around the shelter with growing curiosity.Somebody had been at the ship's stores--somebody hadhelped himself to the provisions set by for _him_ and then had carelessly left the debris behind for _him_to find.The place was overrun with privateers and sloppy housekeepers.He discovered a gasoline lantern on the floor near his feet and reached down quickly to determineif it was warm.It was not, but a jostling shake told him there was fuel remaining in the tank.Many boxesof rations had been cut open--emptied of their contents--and the cartons stacked in a disorderly pilealong the wall near the door.A few water containers rested beside the cartons and Saltus grabbed up thenearest to shake it, test it for use.The can was empty.He took another long pull from his birthday bottleand roamed around the room, making a more detailed inspection of the stores.They weren't in theship-shape order he remembered from his last inspection.A sealed bag of clothing had been torn open, a bag holding several heavy coats and parkas forwinter wear.He could not guess how many had been taken from the container.A pair of boots--no, two or three pair--were missing from a rack holding several similar pairs.Another bundle of warm lined mittens appeared to have been disturbed, but it was impossible todetermine how many were gone.Somebody had visited the stores in winter.That somebody should nothave been the Major--he was scheduled for the Fourth of July, unless that gyroscope went crazy andthrew him off by half a year.Saltus turned again to count the used ration boxes and the water cans: notenough of them had been emptied to support a big man like William for the past sixteen months--notunless he was living outside most of the time and supporting himself from the land.The used-up stores _might_ have carried him through a single winter, supplementing game from outside.It seemed an unlikelypossibility.Saltus worked his way around the room to the bench.It was littered with trash.Three yellow cartons rested on the bench top, cartons he'd not seen there on previous visits.Thefirst one was empty, but he tore away the lid flaps of the next to discover a bullet-proof vest made of anunfamiliar nylon weave.He did not hesitate.The garment looked flimsy and unreliable buf becauseKatrina always knew what she was doing, he put on the protective vest beneath his civilian jacket
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