“Chato, Jobe, Ben, you’re in charge while I’m gone. You call the meetings and see that everyone is happy by the end.”

“Grace, I will not be able to. I go with you,” Ben said.

“You aren’t required to.”

“That’s exactly why I go. You need backup. It can come from an unexpected direction if I am with you.”

“You’re needed here.”

“Now, didn’t they tell us the first day in camp,” Danny drawled, “that no man jack of us is irreplaceable. I say if the crazy Cat dreamer wants to go, we let him. I sure don’t want him organizing a battle I’m in based on one of his wet dreams.”

Ben’s growl showed teeth, but Danny kept smiling.

“Well, if that’s all settled,” Syn said, standing in a way that backlit what she was wearing and showed all she wasn’t, “I have places to go and things to do tonight.”

“Me, too,” Jobe said.

“I will pick both of you up in the morning,” Angus said to Grace and Ben.

The drive to Allabad was both faster and slower than the trip up. Two weeks ago, they had driven straight through, but the heavily loaded trucks had kept them to a slow pace. Now they drove as fast as Wilson’s new 4x4 could go on the gravel or heavily potholed roads, but called a halt at dark to spend the night at a small hostel.

Grace figured this was a good time to get to know Ben better, but she found him as strange a person as she’d ever met. For someone who had ten fingers and ten toes, the man was totally alien. Raised as part of a battle group from his earliest memories, she could not relate to his youth any more than he could understand her fond memories of learning her trade at her father’s side. Her feelings surrounding the loss of her father left him silent.

In the end, they spent the trip studying the terrain they drove through, and ways to defend or attack across it.

Garry McGuire called Grace as they drove into Allabad; he wanted to talk to her. Angus offered his home to Grace, but slipped out to meet with friends before Garry showed up at five.

“The raiders are landing tomorrow, you know, at ten. Lots to do,” Garry huffed.

“I hear you were elected Governor Pro Tem,” Grace said.

“Yes, yes, unanimously,” he said proudly. By the last twenty-seven members present, Grace had heard. “Now here is how I want things to go. We’ll all line up in the terminal, all fifty of us. Strange—none of those who were so fast to show up at the Guild Hall are fighting to get into this meeting. Anyway, we line up, I tell our visitors they are welcome and the Constabulary has been dissolved and no one will shoot at them. You understand? No one will provoke them in the slightest.”

Grace wanted to ask Garry what he’d do when the first merc grabbed his daughter, but she knew he had only boys. Another one of those great plans thought up by guys who didn’t think about how the other half of the species lived. But Grace only nodded nicely. Now was no time to fight Garry.

If she was going to fight, he was way down her list.

Angus returned late and more than three sheets to the wind. As she helped him to bed, the old man mumbled what he thought was important. “They don’t have any idea what to do, Gracie. They don’t have any idea. The men are scared. Wives are terrified. Everyone who can is getting their families out—out anywhere. I told them about what you’d done at Falkirk. I told them to take three months’ supplies. Some said they’d go. Others just don’t know.” He was mumbling, “Don’t know,” as he drifted off to sleep.

Done, Grace went to her room, wondering if she would die tomorrow. If Jobe was right, the raiders would machine-gun them to… what? Impress the locals. Get rid of opposition. From the sound of Garry, there wasn’t any opposition. She could almost hear him going from door to door, telling everyone to just be quiet, to not cause trouble.

What would he say to the raped widow, if it came to that? On that thought, Grace changed into her nightdress and got in bed. Thirty minutes later she was no closer to sleep, then there was an annoying rattling at her window. She got up, unlatched it, and was about to slam it down solidly when a hand reached in.

“Took you long enough. You asleep?” Betsy Ross whispered as she slipped in. Tight black pants, sweater, boots and hood made her nearly invisible.

A soft scratching on Grace’s door was followed by Ben slipping in, also all in black, but unable to hide the whiteness of his hands, face, and feet.

“What have you found out, Betsy?” he asked the woman.

“Who killed the Governor and the Legate, for starters,” Betsy whispered, as Grace struggled to catch every word. “Headmen got offed by a couple of ex-Constabulary boys. You know the type—dirty cops thrown off the force instead of being sent to do hard time. But the trail led off-planet. Don’t know where, but I got a job as a maid at the townhouse Lenzo Computing Industries has kept for off-world salespeople the last couple of years. Lately it’s been full of meetings. I’ve got a pretty solid org chart. Most are Industrial Trade Group. I know the players. What I don’t know is what they’re playing at. I’m not sure they do,” she said, frowning.

Ben nodded. “You have done a good job, Betsy, at a hard task. Tomorrow we will find out which merc organization has the contract and what they intend to do. Unless you know already?”

“Nope. The off-planet crew is playing it very close. No one here knows what’s coming; they’re just getting ready for anything.”

“Santorini works for Lenzo Computing,” Grace pointed out.

“Yes,” Betsy agreed. “He’s a loose cannon there, full of talk about his contacts with Landgrave Jasek and the Stormhammers. Strange, you don’t hear much about him from Jasek.” Betsy smiled. “For what it’s worth, I’m betting Santorini is deep into this—but what I’m willing to bet on and what I know are not the same.”

Grace nodded at the ambiguity. She also noted the quality of information Betsy had just given, far more than she would have expected of an out-of-work merc-infantry type. Who would know what was going on across three, four planets? Interesting. Back to what mattered now. “Will you be at the port tomorrow?”

Betsy shrugged. “Never know where I’ll be until I get there.”

“Have you heard anything about what’s going to happen at the port? Uh, some of us are—”

“Wondering if you need to bother buying a round-trip ticket?” Betsy finished for Grace. “No guarantee on this, but I’d buy the extra ticket. Worse comes to worst, your kids can inherit it.”

“I don’t have kids,” Grace said.

“Don’t blame me for your poor planning, honey. Now I’ve got to go. My break is sure to be over, and I’ve got floors to clean.”

Grace turned to say something to Ben, but he was gone as silently as he had come. She closed the window, locked it, and went to bed. Tossing, Grace tried to assess what Betsy had let spill. She wondered if more than the people on Alkalurops were concerned with what happened on this planet. No answers came to any of her questions, but she fell asleep trying to make some up.

The port parking lot was mostly empty when Grace drove into it. She’d skipped breakfast. Even with Betsy’s erstwhile promise, Grace’s stomach was little interested in food. Others got out of cars and walked toward the terminal. No one hailed anyone. Alone, they walked in silence. In the terminal hall, no one worked the ticket booths. No one was visible at all. Grace took her place in a group of people growing in disorder around Garry. She found a metal trash can next to a pillar; it should provide cover.

The building shook with the sonic boom of a DropShip entering atmosphere. Several mayors made a hasty retreat to the rest rooms. All came back sheepishly by the time the weight of the DropShip settling into its berth made the terminal groan.