* * * * *
The reception room was small. Thick carpeting deadened the clump of my
heels as I marched toward the chromed desk guarding a second unmarked
door. A flawlessly proportioned redhead sat behind the desk. Her eyes
and face showed no expression when I stopped in front of her. Her
tight-fitting uniform was black and bore the gold trim of the Security
Police.
Constricting my throat, I let the words snap out crisply, as I had been
trained.
"General Spicer," I said, "commanding general of the Security Police,
reporting to the Secretary of Defense. As requested."