![]() Her ship had only just docked from Circum-Jove after a three-week transit at maximum burn. She carried herself stiffly, her face a mask of quiet resignation. “It’s not genocide when they’re just a faction, not an ethnically distinct race,” Warren said, before Voi was within earshot. That was Sandra Voi, the Demarchist woman who would be accompanying him to Mars. Through the door Clavain saw a throng of media people, then someone gliding through them, fielding questions with only the curtest of answers. Warren might have been about to answer when there was a bustle of activity along the docking tube, at the far end from the waiting spacecraft. The only long-term solution here is…” he trailed off. “No matter how many times we’ve been over this, you just don’t seem to get it, do you? There can’t ever be any kind of peace while they’re still down there. ![]() Warren shook his head, slowly and patiently. I’d rather take that risk, if there’s a chance for peace.” “But if there’s another war, we might all die. Nevil Clavain looked into his brother’s one good eye the one the Conjoiners had left him with after the Battle of Tharsis Bulge. ![]() ![]() “You realise you might die down there,” said Warren. ![]()
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