Hours later L. J. sat in a comfortable chair in front of a crackling gas fire in his suite at the LCI Manor House. An olive-skinned maid by the name of Betty Rose had just served drinks and left. Now Eddie Thomas, his adjutant, lounged lazily in an overstuffed chair next to the fire and gave his report. “Our client does provide fine quarters. All vehicles are housed in several nearby vacant warehouses, now surrounded by barbed wire and under guard. Our officers and staff are quartered in a good hotel across the street from here. Our troops occupy a college dorm three blocks from here that fits them nicely. Looks like good duty,” the man said, always happy when his job was easy.
His XO, Arthur St. George, a wiry, hard-charger with distant family connections back to the old Colonel himself, nodded from his seat across from L. J. Captain Mallary Hardy, a short, severe woman who filled the Operations slot with her excess energy, activated the computer screen in the coffee table between them. “Our satellite, which the DropShip put into orbit on the way down, is working fine. No sign of any hostilities anywhere,” she said.
“We move out tomorrow to the larger towns,” she said. “I’ve set up platoon-sized task forces of ’Mechs, armor and infantry. The ’Mechs and armor should intimidate nicely. The infantry will provide the boots on the ground to keep the locals quiet and out of our hair. We are going to be a bit thin, Major.”
“Looks like a great recruiting ground,” Art said. “Be nice to take out a battalion and return with three or four, sir.”
That would be nice. The old man hadn’t given him a company of the BattleMech MODs he’d captured. Instead L. J. had a ragged collection, the leavings from the other battalions. But there were bound to be ’Mechs to confiscate, trucks to be taken over and armed. If he signed up eight, nine hundred recruits, he could triple his command. With demand for mercs growing, officers who grew their units would be noticed.
“Do it. Flag a sergeant from each platoon as recruiter. Put recruits immediately to work on guard duty. If these hicks are half as impressed as their mayors were, we ought to have kids standing in line to join up.” That settled, they went on to supply. Always more details.
Grace breathed a sigh of relief when Ben came in right after she got back from the port. She started to brief him, but he cut her off. “It was on Net. Nice eye-catcher, that dress. Did the Major add anything during your private talk?”
“What, it wasn’t carried live?”
“The Net had two feeds, one from the Governor’s tie tack, the other from the battalion’s com feed. Battalion cut the feed as you started up to talk to Major Hanson. Did you practice that sashay, or does it just come naturally?”
“Do all guys forget everything else when they look at a girl?” Grace shot back. “I thought you Nova Cats might be different, all controlled-like.”
“We do not take vows of chastity, if that is what you mean,” Ben said, with that hint of a smile that he sometimes allowed himself. “But did he say anything to you personally?”
“Yes. All mercs in my employ should report for off-planet processing immediately.”
“I thought he might do that.”
“I told him there were no mercs. All the folks who came back with me were homesteading. Had their land grants and all.”
Now Ben did throw back his head and laugh, a nearly childlike thing that started in his belly and quickly worked its way up to his eyes. “Is that part of your dream?”
For a moment Grace wanted to take credit for whatever put the look of admiration in his eyes, but she couldn’t lie. “No, it was what I told you: the greatest gift I could give you.”
“I would love to share your dreams, Grace,” Ben said in a way that made Grace warm where she didn’t need to be. Then suddenly all business, he finished. “You truly have given us a great honor.”
She sighed. And as soon as honor is served, you will be gone. “Did you meet Betsy this morning?”
“Her and a few people she trusts. We made plans for what she needs to find out, and how she might go about it.”
“If we told Hanson his client is a cold-blooded murderer, could he cancel his contract then?”
Ben slowly shook his head. “Is it like this with all civilians? Do you cancel your contracts because someone says someone did something not nice?”
“Murder goes a bit beyond ‘not nice.’ But no, we don’t break our contracts unless we have good cause.”
“And we do not break contracts even for what you might think of as good cause. Grace, where a merc goes is death’s land. No one that you would consider sane goes there. Why do you think your people ran so quickly? But that is where I live. That is my land. None of my kind will run from our duty to that land. Not for any reason. So long as we are paid, we do not run. Hanson is being paid. He will not run.”
“Damn! Isn’t there a court you can go to?”
“In the middle of a battle with laser fire all around and mines under your feet?” Ben laughed again. This time there was nothing childlike in it. It was cold, cynical, deadly.
“It’s not easy to be a merc,” Grace said.
“Yes and no. It is easy to do our jobs. All you need do is fear failure more than death. And no, it is not easy. It is hard, painfully dull work, interrupted occasionally by sudden, soul-searing terror. Now, come, we must get out of town before Hanson sends detachments across the countryside.”
“He won’t stay here?”
“He is ordered to hold this planet. He can’t do that from Allabad. Tomorrow the roads will be filled with convoys making for all the major towns. Only when he has them patrolled will he begin to enjoy the boring part of his job.”
When Grace and Ben told Angus they were leaving, he thanked them for the offer of a drive up-country but passed on it. “This is my town. I don’t know what an old lawyer can do, but I will do it when I see it.” They made it back to Falkirk a few hours before sunset the next day, driving through without stopping, except for gas and food.
Victoria greeted them as they rolled in. “We saw the show,” she said. “You looked good, Grace. Of course, the others looked like something a Scotsman might include in his haggis. Too bad Danny’s not around to hear that one,” she said, relishing her joke. “Danny is south of Kilkenny, setting up observation posts to warn if someone comes calling. Your Auntie Maydell also has her friends from down the valley looking out for them. But we need something of our own we can count on.”
“Good. What are we doing for practice?” Ben said, looking at the sky.
“We’ve set Condition Zed for overhead security last evening when we spotted a new satellite. No drill, no battle suits in the open. No ’Mechs on parade. It’s playing hell with training, but until we know for sure, it’s just lecture and more lecture. That and taking care of the crops, digging a bit of metal the hard way. Anything that breaks a sweat.”
“Very good. Now, Grace, where do we fight them?”
Grace had expected that question all through the drive. The merc thought in terms of stand-up fights, death’s ground. It was time for Grace to let them in on how Alkalurops made a name for itself as somewhere you don’t want to fight.
“Ben, Victoria, I’ve listened to Sean tell your stories. I was reading your history books even before I met you. But none of your stories are Alkalurops’ story. Let’s go down to Auntie Maydell’s and give Old Man Clannath a chance to sing you a few songs. Boy-wonder Hanson has no idea what he’s walked into.”
Major Hanson had a hard time making his daily report sound exciting. In two weeks he had occupied half of Alkalurops—the independent miners’ half. His client had been specific about leaving the corporate west side alone. The map showed a nice circle around Allabad. The Roughriders held all major towns and significant trade routes. This place was as occupied as it was going to get.