Lance Corporal Phil Chaffee said, “is the Xul have a weapon, a machine of some kind, that eats your soul. . . .” “Bullshit,” Garroway said. “That’s squad- bay rot- brain bullsession bullshit.” Four of them—Garroway, Chaffee, Sergeant Milo Huerra, and Master Sergeant Clara Gardner were sitting in a hole on the surface of S-2/I, passing the time in time-honored Marine fashion—exchanging scuttlebutt. Behind them, Firebase Hawkins rose slowly but relentlessly from the plasma- baked rubble of the ravaged Xul base. Nanoconstructors, injected deep into the rock by the trillions, were devouring rock and reproducing, extruding as a by-product fast-growing shells of nanocrete. Kingfisher heavy transports, massive and bulbous- hulled, had been descending from the Intrepid for the past several hours, bringing down heavy weapons and life- support equipment, turning the captured site into a Marine fortress. Numerous Xul caverns and underground facilities had already been converted into deep, well-protected bunkers.
