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It was Mike s turn to take a long pause. I don t know, he said at last.
Something to help out, I
suppose. Can t help myself there. But it has to be something other than this.
The dropship had limited range, but they managed to flag down a lift
out-system on the
Thunder Child, an old
Leviathan
-class cruiser that only four hours and one mutiny earlier had been in the
service of the
Confederacy. Now it and most of the human ships were pulling back out of
combat, leaving Tarsonis to the Zerg, the Protoss, and whatever poor fools who
thought underground bunkers were a good idea.
The comm officer of the
Child met them at the gangway. I have a message for you from Arcturus
Mengsk.
Mengsk! spat Raynor. Is he looking for me to rip him a new orifice?
It s not for you, sir, said the comm officer. It s for a Mr. Michael
Liberty. Emphasis on the Mister.
You can take it in the communications room, if you want.
Raynor raised a tired eyebrow. Mike waved him to come along. The former
planetary marshal, former
rebel captain, former revolutionary settled himself in a chair out of view of
the comm console s camera.
Mike toggled the reply switch and waited for the message to come through space
from the
Hyperion.
Arcturus Mengsk warped into view on the screen. Every hair was back in place,
and every action mannered and rehearsed. It was as if the earlier incident had
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not happened.
Michael, he beamed.
Arcturus, said Mike, not even giving him a smile.
Mengsk looked down briefly in sorrow, as if thinking carefully about his next
words. Once it would have worked, but now it was a shallow, emotionless
mannerism, one that the rebel leader clearly had rehearsed. Michael almost
expected him to come around and sit on the edge of the desk. I m afraid I
can t express sufficiently my regrets about Sarah. I just don t know what to
say.
Captain Raynor had a few choice words, said Mike, his own eyes now blazing.
And someday, I hope that Jim and I can talk about it. Mengsk s smile was
forced and strained.
Something had happened, and the great bubble around Mengsk had been shattered.
But that s not why
I called you. I have someone who wants to talk to you.
Mengsk reached off screen to flip a switch and a new face replaced that of the
future emperor of the human universe. A balding head dominated by a pair of
bushy eyebrows.
Handy? said Mike.
Mickey! said Handy Anderson. It s good to see you, buddy! I knew that if
anyone in the stable survived this mess, it would be you! You re the lucky
coin, always turning up when needed!
Anderson, where are you?
Here on the
Hyperion, of course. Arcturus had me shuttled over from a refugee ship. He s
been telling me how great you ve been through all this. A real trooper. Why no
reports for a while?
I sent reports. You changed them, remember? Said Mengsk had captured me? Ring
any bells?
A small bit of editing, said Anderson, Just enough to make the powers that
be, God rest their eternal souls, content. I knew you d understand.
Handy
Anyway, I hear you ve done a bang-up job. And I knew you d want to know that,
despite the present situation, you can have your old job back.
My old . . .
Sure. I mean, the people who wanted you dead are now no longer in the
business, one way or another.
I was talking with Arcturus, here, and we could make you the official press
liaison to his government. He thinks the world of you, you know. Apparently
you grew on him with your winning personality.
Anderson, I don t know if . . . Mike said, tapping his forehead with the
palm of his hand.
Just listen. Here s the deal, said the editor-in-chief. You d get your own
office, just down the hall from Arcturus s. All access, all the time. You do
the trips, cover the dinners, get the awards. Lotsa perks. Lotsa security.
It s a cush job. Hell, I can get a stringer to type up your reports for you. I
tell you
Mike thumbed the sound off. Anderson kept talking, but Mike was no longer
looking at him.
He was looking at his own reflection in the smooth surface of the screen. He
was leaner than when he had last been in Anderson s presence, and his hair was
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