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are yelling something about better housing and recreation facilities. I’ve got my men in riot-control position, but I haven’t got nearly enough of them if things turn ugly. Can you possibly send me another thirty or so troops?”
    â€œHave you tried talking to them?” Meredith countered.
    â€œSir, if I open the door, they’re likely to pour in before we can stop them.”
    Meredith grimaced, but the reply was not unexpected. Dunlop was a competent administrator, but the finer points of diplomacy and compromise were far beyond him. Spraying the crowd with stunner fire would be much more his style, and that was the last thing Meredith needed right now. “All right, then, just stay put,” he told the other. “I’m a few minutes out from Unie; I’ll have a team waiting and we’ll drive up there as soon as I get in. Do not attempt riot procedures unless there is an immediate threat to life or safety—got that?”
    â€œGot it, sir. I recommend you hurry with those reinforcements.”
    â€œNoted. Out.”
    Almost savagely, Meredith yanked the throttle back to full power. Reinforcements, my eye, he thought as the boat leaped forward. What Dunlop needed was a negotiating team—and that was precisely what he was going to get. Preferably one whose members spoke at least halfway fluent Spanish. First the flyer crash, and now this. Murphy’s Law is really riding high today.
    Raising his phone, he keyed for Lieutenant Andrews and began giving orders.
    â€œThree to an apartment, we got—sometimes even four, ” Matro Rodriguez’s bullfrog voice bellowed out, clearly audible even over the other shouts and the loud background muttering of the crowd. Standing to one side, Cristobal Perez alternately gave his attention to the mob and to the squat adobe building they faced. The building’s windows were empty of official faces, but Perez knew they were watching. Sooner or later they would decide they’d been under siege long enough and do something about it. Idiots, he thought, his eyes flicking back to the crowd, watching as some of the men began waving clenched fists over their heads. All they’re going to do is get the major’s back up and force him to take action. They had as yet no real economic power and certainly no political power. All they had was numbers and the threat of violence, and that only worked if those in authority were hesitant about shooting. The soldiers, Perez knew, would be under no such handicap.
    A flicker from one of the dark windows caught Perez’s eye: someone moving up to what could only be firing position. Cursing under his breath, Perez stepped forward, heading for the front of the crowd. He’d hoped Dunlop would hold off a while longer, give the mob time to blow off their steam and maybe leave peacefully. But moving troops to the windows could only mean he’d decided to have it out right now.
    Nobody seemed to notice Perez as he strode to Rodriguez’s side directly opposite the admin building’s door; only a few looked quizzically at him as he raised his hand for quiet. “Friends!” he called … but his voice didn’t have anything like Rodriguez’s carrying power. He was inhaling for a second try when, as if by delayed action, an expectant hush swept up the hubbub.
    Turning, he found himself practically nose to nose with Major Dunlop.
    The major opened his mouth to speak—but Perez had always been fast on the uptake and managed to beat Dunlop to the verbal draw. “Good afternoon, Major,” he said, managing to put both respect and righteous displeasure into his voice. “We would like to have some words with you about the conditions—”
    â€œAll right, you lazy troublemakers,” Dunlop bellowed without even looking at Perez, “you’ve got exactly thirty seconds to clear out of here and get back to your jobs. After that you’ll wish you