“What I was really checking out was your obsolete servicing jigs. Sven here thought they might have a few more hours in them. Not much, maybe just enough to make them worth shipping back to Alkalurops to see if they were what we needed.”
“These are not obsolete,” Ally said, and almost looked like he might come out of his cart. “We’ve expanded our service options for BattleMechs, things being what they are. I’ve already placed an order to expand my service bays so we can get back to meeting our customers’ needs for IndustrialMech maintenance. In a couple of weeks—a month at most—we’ll be cleaning up this, ah, stuff and putting it back under cover.”
“Looks to me like it’s been out here for quite a while,” Grace said, kicking gently at the drill press where it lay in dried mud. “When was the last time it rained in Galaport?”
“Six months ago or more,” Abe said under his breath.
“I’ll have to get on my foreman. I had no idea he was treating the temporarily out-of-use equipment so poorly.”
“Ahem,” Abe said, opening the strongbox in his lap and retrieving one of the gaudier African works in gold and diamonds. Ally took it in with a glance, then betrayed himself by letting his eyes go back for a second look. As he reached out to finger the gold and jewels, his eyes widened even more.
“Hand-worked,” Abe said. “Want to feel the heft of this necklace?”
“If you don’t mind my looking at your bauble. I didn’t know you handled costume jewelry,” Ally said. There was a noticeable sag as his hands took in the full weight of it.
Jobe stepped forward. “I dug the diamonds from the earth. My nephew panned the gold. My first wife cut the diamonds, poured the molten gold into a unique mold of her design, and hammered the diamonds into place to finish it. You will not find a finer piece of gold jewelry within the human sphere.”
“So you say, but I might want to have it appraised myself.”
Abe produced his ’puter, snapped a picture of the glistening necklace, and asked, “Who do you want to do the second appraisal?”
“Let me see yours,” Ally said, and whistled when Abe handed him a sheet of paper. “I should have my security man throw you off my lot. I don’t let thieves in here.”
“Pay a stone less and you’re the thief.”
And so started the haggling. It went on for hours as Sven and the MechWarriors dusted off items, prepared them for shipment and loaded them on a hauler. Ally ignored them, except to reject the drill press. “That’s gonna be needed here real soon. Steal it from somebody else, Sven.” Sven pouted, but grinned at Grace when Ally wasn’t looking.
“Had to include something he could yank. No worry, if you can’t find a spare press in Allabad, I’m sure I can steal one.”
Abe had surrendered about half of their stash by the time the negotiators were exhausted. That was when Sven turned to Ally and said, “We will need a few items out of your used-parts bin.” That took them inside as Sven dug through the back nooks of the parts room, bringing out three targeting computers, several targeting-acquisition systems, two very old but usable sets of electronic counter-measures gear, and a dusty tool box Sven said might be usable to upgrade Indi helmets to something close to modern neurohelmet levels.
Ally looked at the stack, eyed the rest of the jewelry, and called for coffee. Abe asked for a bathroom break. The two hagglers went their separate ways, with promises to resume momentarily. Ben ordered a flatbed truck to haul what they’d scrounged out to the port, and Grace bought tickets on the next ship out.
Abe came back, but Ally was nowhere in sight. “He must have a lot of daughters. His wife can’t wear all that,” Grace said.
“He has a lot of mistresses,” Abe said. “His poor wife will be doing well to get a pair of earrings out of this.”
“You didn’t bring the Navajo jewelry?”
“It’s silver; he’d dismiss it in a moment,” Abe explained. “Do you have enough for tickets? Your group seems to have grown.”
“I was about to ask you if you could help with that. I have some more diamonds I held back,” Grace said.
“There are three of us who will take about half the silver and some of the less flashy gold pieces. Do you want me to return the rest to you?”
“Would you be willing to serve as our agent and sell items here?” Grace asked. “None of the mercs have asked about their pay, but I’m sure I’ll need cash on Galatea for that.”
“I will, gladly,” Abe said, offering his hand. They shook. “Now, Ally is back, and I do not think I should have let him get away.” They had two hours to make the DropShip when the bargaining ended. Abe offered his car. From just three, Grace’s group had grown to include Ben and Danny, Victoria and Sean, and George and Sven.
“I would have liked a few more. The infantry slot is still open,” Ben said as they dismounted at the cargo terminal.
“You have room for one more?” Betsy Ross asked, sauntering over from where she’d been leaning against theARRIVALS sign. “I don’t have anything going, and this place is getting boring.”
“I doubt Alkalurops will be boring,” Danny offered.
“Could be just garrison duty,” Victoria said. “Long hours of tedium interrupted by explaining to civilians who don’t know a thing about our work why they should pay us for doing nothing productive,” she said, eyeing Grace.
“If it comes down to that, I could sure use you working my mines. I have three of them that I haven’t been able to open for lack of ’Mechs.” She smiled wickedly, and Danny groaned. “But we do have good whiskey up the Gleann Mor Valley.”
“Maybe driving a MiningMech would be tolerable under those circumstances,” the Highlander muttered.
Poor Sean looked ready to burst out crying. “I’d really like to face one b-battle in my life.”
“You will, boy,” Victoria promised.
LoaderMechs sent their cargo off to the Good Sense to Stay Home III, leaving Grace with a bigger bill than she’d been told. Taxes had not been mentioned when she’d asked the cost before. Abe presented his smart card to cover the balance.
As they turned to the passenger lounge, a car disgorged a red-suited figure. The click of heels came quickly, as did her perfume that managed to overpower the smell of ozone and diesel. “What have we here?” Betsy asked. “Date not so hot, Syn?”
“Date was plenty hot. He didn’t tell me his wife was combat-trained. She showed up halfway through drinks and wanted to know who I was. I excused myself to the ladies’ room while he explained. He was on the floor with her standing over him when I got out, so I decided maybe I could use a job off-planet for a while. Ben, you still have an opening?”
“Grace, can you spring for one more ticket?” Abe said.
The eleven of them boarded a mere five minutes before the ship locked down for launch.
“Colonel wants to see you,” is not the best way for a Major to start his day. L. J. knew there were worse things, and a morning visit with the Colonel need not be viewed as a challenge. It could be an opportunity. Their last meeting had been to pin on his Major’s insignia. The one before that ended with orders to develop operating procedures for a raiding strategy. “An old military practice,” the Colonel assured him, “that though somewhat unused of late, is sanctioned by long years of use on ancient Terra.” Had there been a smile behind that?
L. J. paused before knocking on the Colonel’s office door to clear his mind of the thought that kept running through his head, like what had he been doing, working for a cold-blooded killer? Face set, L. J. knocked.
“Enter,” he heard immediately.
Colonel Ludwig Hanson V sat squarely behind his desk, looking as determined as the portrait of their grandfather behind him. His commitment to their grandfather’s glower often made it hard to figure out exactly what he intended. Beside him, Major Keith Thomas, the legal officer, stood at parade rest, imitating his own regimental ancestor’s portrait hanging in the hall. His staff officer’s paunch made the image harder to carry off. Cousin Amadeus Hanson, the regiment’s Chief Accounts Manager, and committed civilian as his loud vest emphasized, lounged lazily in a chair across from the Colonel as L. J. reported.