"Y'know, sometimes I get so flushed. It's interesting. Do your palms ever itch?"
I awoke to the sound of Colette's voice. She was sitting on the edge of my bed, smoking something in a long cigarette holder.
"You do realize this is a non-smoking room? No tobacco smell. That's a pretty nice consideration for the business traveler."
"Carey, I'm gonna let you in on a little secret. Every day, once a day, give yourself a present. Don't plan it, don't wait for it, just... let it happen. Could be Gauloises wherever you feel like smoking, a catnap, or two cups of good, hot, black coffee."
"I'd take you up on the coffee but that would be your second treat of the day, wouldn't it?"
"When was the last time you treated yourself?"
"Huh?"
"Tomorrow afternoon we're gonna meet with Mirj and Josie at the saloon, and we're gonna drink cosmos, AND we're gonna plan a day together at the spa. Got it? Think of this as a team-building exercise."
I'm covering my head with a sheet, wishing it was all just a dream. I don't even hear Colette leaving but by the time I decide to get up and at'em, she's gone.

As I attempted to exit the saloon, I realized someone was leaning against the doorway. The night had become so dark that I couldn't determine who it was until I stood next to her: Josie. I decided that I ought to rely on my rudimentary Spanish.
"Fue capaz de deshacerse de Wynn?"
"Si, senorita."
"¿Cómo lo hiciste?"
"Con amor."
Perfect. Jo is a true professional, though never accepted as such. "¿Dónde está?"
"Te dejaré saber."
I knew Jo well enough to understand that this was all I would get from her at the moment. "Tenga cuidado. Buenas noches."
"Buenas noches, senorita."

Back in the saloon, I was speaking casually with Miraj. He had been planning to become assistant manager by and by, under the present man. And if he did secretarial work for the manager, it was because "no sensible man rejects wantonly the confidence of his superiors."

Did I see it? I saw it. What more did I want? I had to laugh. Miraj tells me, "Carey, you are of the new gang - the gang of virtue. The same people who sent me specially recommended you. Oh, don't say no. I've my own eyes to trust."

I nearly burst out into laughter again. "Don't you read the Company's confidential correspondence?!"

He hadn't a word to say. Meanwhile, figures strolled about listlessly, pouring water on the glowing candles at our table. The sound of hissing followed, smoke rising. Were they closing already? I am surrounded by indefatigable men and yet, they were all succumbing to the night quite willfully. What time was it?

A man with a black moustache passes our table, speaking loudly, "Serves him right. Transgression - punishment - bang! Pitiless, pitiless. That's the only way. This will prevent all conflagrations for the future. I was just telling the manager..." The moustached stranger pauses and turns around to stare at Miraj, who in turn, appears crestfallen that he's been noticed (even without the glow of our candle). Still staring at Miraj, "Not in bed yet," he says with a kind of servile heartiness. "It's so natural. Ha! Danger - agitation." Then the stranger vanishes into the gathering darkness. Indeed, I began to feel that it was time for us to head back to our rooms. Miraj did not acknowledge any such need.
"God, would you listen to yourself?"
I assumed he was speaking in response to the moustached stranger. Miraj continues muttering to no one in particular, "We really aren't that concerned."
Looking at me now, he says, "We simply must get the girls together."
Of course, I agreed.
"But before we do, there's something you need to know."

I am curious. What could it possibly be? "Is it Joe?"

"Joe? No, no. Nothing going on there that we haven't already sussed-out." Miraj gives me a wink. "It's the General; how he came to be promoted to the rank of officer, and then a senior commander to some fortress here."

Could this be something new? "By all means, carry-on, Mirj."

"There was a chief, rather peaceful fellow. In fact, I believe he was a pacifist of sorts: encouraging non-violent protests and the like. One night someone set fire to a fortress. The General was stationed there.

At this point in time, he was just another young soldier, though he was cunning, very cunning. The hostile tribes were being blamed for the incident. A month after the event, the General was drinking tea with the peaceful chief. This was just another friendly chat, like several they had shared before. This chief believed in the power of dialogue, especially with his enemies. He arrived for tea suspecting nothing, for he hadn't really known the General very long.

What he didn't realize was that our General had convinced his superiors that he knew who had set the fire. Our General had his regiment surround the tea room where the meeting was to take place. When the chief arrived, our General publicly accused and upbraided him. Right there on the spot our General delivered a most detailed reprimand and in conclusion shot the chief, killing him instantly. Thus began the long career of our illustrious General, for he was immediately promoted."

"That hardly seems shocking, when one considers the environment..."

"No. What some find shocking is the report that the General set the fire himself and then perished in the blaze."

"I see."

"This is all just to give you an indication of the man with whom we are dealing."

I try remain unsurprised, for I've heard so much mythology with regards to this man.
"I understand. They say there is no trade with which he is unfamiliar."

"Yes. The General is a joiner, a cobbler, a shoemaker, a painter, a gilder, a locksmith and... "

"He learned all of these skills while in prison."

"Yes, that was before he became a soldier. Did you know how he came to be a prisoner in the first place?"

I shake my head, though I know very well how the General had become a convict in his early life. I'm curious to find out what exactly it is that Miraj feels the need to share with me.

"He was of noble origin, had worked in government service and had been something of a prodigal son to his sixty-year-old father. But his behaviour became thoroughly dissipated, he had become embroiled in debt. His father tried to exert a restraining influence on him, tried to make him see reason; but the father had a house and a farm, it was suspected he had money, and - the General murdered him in order to get his hands on the inheritance.

The crime was not discovered until a month after it was committed. The General, who was just a young man of twenty, informed the police that his father had disappeared. Then he spent the next month in the utmost debauchery. Finally, in the General's absence, the police discovered the body.

He made no confession. He was stripped of his nobility and government service rank. Then he was sentenced to twenty years' deportation and penal servitude. He was approved for parole after serving five years on the Moon. The agreement was that if he remained here he would be granted some leniency. The administration was pleased with all of the skills he had taught himself. Then he began to serve in the convict battalions back on Earth. He returned to the Moon as a soldier, tried and true, and well, now you know the rest."

I'm still not quite sure what Miraj is getting at, here. Is this supposed to lead up to some sort of blackmail?

At that moment, two figures appear in the entrance. They literally waltz inside the saloon. Even in the dim light, I know exactly who it is. As always, the General was unmistakable and Colette was sporting a dazzling smile, complete with a bit of tumblewire sticking out the corner of her mouth. Then I am suddenly within the throws of the General's continual pontification.

"We pounded along, stopped, landed soldiers; went on, landed custom-house clerks to levy toll in what looked like a God-forsaken wilderness, with a tin shed and a flag-pole lost in it; landed more soldiers - to take care of the custom-house clerks, presumably. They were just flung out there, and on we went...-I remember it, but I can't explain..."

Had the General arrived for a grilling? Did he already know who was dead and who was alive, and how they got on? My position was no better. I could tell him, in fact, I repeat to him several times that the situation was "very grave, very grave". I inform him that Dr. Hubbleworth and Chester had been transported to proper beds within our secure medical facility. There was still no trace of Wynn or Joe. When I explained this to the General he said he was "very, very uneasy". Certainly when he finally did sit down he fidgeted around on his chair a good deal. Next thing he wanted to know "how long it would take to..."

I interrupted him.

"How can I tell?" I said. All this talk seemed to me so futile, but I did not try to stop him.

By this point, it was so pitch dark that we listeners could hardly see one another. For a long time already the General, sitting apart, had been no more to us than a voice. There was not a word from anyone else. Everyone around us might have been sleeping, but I was still awake. I listened. I listened, on the watch, for a sentence, or a word, that would explain the uneasiness inspired by this General's narrative which seemed to shape itself without human lips in the heavy night air. Yes - I let him run on and think what he pleased. I did, while he talked fluently about "the necessity for every man to get on. And when one comes out here, you conceive, it is not, of course, to gaze at the moon. Ha ha ha heh haheha ha."

He was becoming confidential now, but I fancy my unresponsive attitude must have exasperated him at last, for he judged it necessary to inform me he feared neither God nor devil, let alone any mere woman. I tell him I can see that very well, but what I really want is a certain quantity of silicate crystal. He changes his manner; becoming very cold, and simply carries on with the narrative he'd already begun...

"In that same year, the Indian Branch became its own department, with inside staff including the superintendent general, chief clerk, accountant, and clerical staff, and an outside staff comprising 460 field workers responsible for the implementation of policies directed at Indians. These outside workers were called Indian agents, and were invested with tremendous authority over the reserves and the people with whom they worked."

By this time I could hear Miraj snoring, and Colette was nowhere to be seen. I decide to call it a night.