Cackling, the Black and Red ushered himself out. Betsy found the memo that explained the last spreadsheet and swallowed a low whistle at Santorini’s audacity. Ready to leave, she started down the ladder only to find Santorini’s cold eyes on her.

“You have very nice legs,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Santorini.”

“Call me Alfred,” he said, coming to steady the ladder and running a cold hand up her leg well past the hem.

“I—I couldn’t do that,” she said, feigning growing terror as she calculated the situation. Given the right circumstances and distractions, she could twist out of her dress and her search suite in one easy motion that would leave Santorini none the wiser. She managed to get down the ladder with her dress still on. That offered her more options. Hiding coyly behind the feather duster, she let him see her undo her top button, then whirled away to put distance between them. She didn’t think he actually killed his sex partners. Most departing staff left in a hurry, but only three had not come back for their last paycheck.

Betsy could live with those odds if that was what it took to stay alive long enough to give Grace the answers to all her questions.

Grace tried to look as confident as Ben did standing beside her. Around the table, now covered with the best map they had of the valley and the high plains beyond, stood the new commanders. Months ago most had been farmers or miners or store owners. Now they led the army on which the future of Alkalurops hung.

God, St. Patrick and St. Michael help us all.

“Sean and I will lead twelve of our ’Mechs, the armed hovertrucks and all the infantry we can cram in them down the west foothills along this road.” Ben tapped the tiny town of Nazareth, just south of where the Galty Range petered out. “Once here, my force will strike into the badlands and make contact with the running farmers. I assume they will be racing up side roads as fast as their trucks and ’Mechs can go. If I make contact, I will lead them into the valley, give them a guide and set up Blocking Force West.” The others around the table nodded.

“Victoria, you get the center. Take most of what we have, advance up the valley on the main road to here.” He pointed at Amarillo, the largest town anywhere in the valley, “Organize your defenses in front of Amarillo and dig in.”

He nodded at Chato. “The Navajos will help anyone still unclear that a shovel is the infantry’s second-best friend after his rifle or rocket. The only good road into the valley runs through Amarillo. They will hit it first. As soon as I get back in touch with you on our right, we can look at me nibbling their left. If I’m engaged, we will modify our plans.”

“I just love the smell of freshly baked plans in the morning,” Danny said with a fraudulent sigh.

“Which leaves the rest to me,” Syn said, crinkling her nose at the map. “Who’s all mine?”

“I’m with you,” Jobe said, “and the Donga River crew.”

Grace knew Ben wanted that crew. The west side put them closer to their homes, but Jobe and Syn’s affair was too hot to ignore. “Just remember to keep your ass in your ’Mech when it matters,” Grace said, “or someone may shoot it off you.”

“Nobody’s done it yet,” Syn said in a sultry voice.

“There is always a first time,” Ben pointed out.

“That was a long time ago. Who else do I get?”

Ben turned to Danny. “You go with the eastern detachment if Victoria does not want you.”

The woman sniffed at the man as she might at a rat six days dead. “I’ll need him,” she said.

“Wilson, you back up to the east side,” Grace said, putting at least one levelheaded adult with that team.

“I’ll pick up more ranch hands as we move down the valley,” he said, fingering the map. “This edge of the valley is rough. You need to know it or you lose a lot of cows up these draws. If I get some rangers right off these spreads, we can tickle those mercs where they aren’t expecting.”

“You do that,” Ben said, imitating Grace ordering people to do what they wanted to do. A chuckle ran around the table.

“Is Amarillo where we m-make our stand?” Sean asked.

“No,” Grace said, stepping closer to the map and taking full command. “We’re trained, but nowhere near good enough to survive a stand-up fight with the Roughriders. No, we’ll fight a series of short skirmishes, causing what casualties we can, then fall back before they can cut us up. Fight, fall back, fight, fall back, that’s the best we can hope to do at first.

“However, as we gain confidence and experience, we’ll fight longer and fall back shorter. Here—“she slammed her fist down on Falkirk—“here is where we make our stand.”

“Our last stand,” someone whispered.

“A patriot’s stand,” Grace shot back. “Ho will stay here. The women and bigger kids from up in the hills will take over Falkirk once we’re gone. They’ve got a lot of digging to do. When we get back, you’ll find their sweat and blisters have made this land ready for a fight.”

Grace let her eyes travel around the table, taking each person in for a moment, then going to the next. “Battle-tested and true, here we will make a fight. A fight that no one will forget, so long as Alkalurops spins among the stars.”

13

In and Around Nazareth, Alkalurops

Prefecture IX, The Republic of the Sphere

22 August 3134; local summer

Benjork Lone Cat led the ’Mechs and gun trucks of his task force south as quickly as he dared push trainees. Aware that the farmers were fleeing north, hounded by Black and Reds, the militia responded like pros. Only twenty hours later Benjork strode up the dusty, wide road into Nazareth. As Sean oversaw refueling the ’Mechs and rigs, Benjork dismounted and turned to the half-dozen men lounging in front of the town’s one store.

Feet up on the porch rail, chairs pushed back, they tried to ignore the gray MilitiaMechs that loomed over their one-story town, but they nodded to Benjork as he introduced himself and asked if they had seen the hunted farmers.

“They ain’t been here. May not make it if them Black and Reds have any say—not that I know nothing about this, you understand,” said a man with boots of tooled leather.

“They will likely travel this road, quiaff?”

The men looked at one another, then shook their heads. “Nope,” “Not likely,” “Wouldn’t do it if I was them,” came back at him. He waited for silence to fall, then asked a new question.

“What road would you travel to Falkirk?”

“You come from there?” one asked.

“I fight with Grace O’Malley,” Ben answered.

“We don’t much want to fight with anybody,” the one with the fancy boots said, letting his chair come down hard. “You see, them Special Police are hanging anybody they think might know anything about them farmers. They’re stringing ’em up to signs, power poles, windmills, by God. Stringing them up like they had all the rope in the world.”

“They string up a man, then go looking for his woman and kids,” another man added.

“We don’t need to know nothing about this fight. It’s not ours, so you’d like to get your gas and get out of here,” Fancy Boots said, standing and leading his cronies inside.

Benjork thanked them for their time and returned to his ’Mech. It was fueled, as were all the rigs. He offered Wilson’s smart card to the young man who had watched them pump the gas.

“Your money’s no good here,” a voice came from behind Benjork. He turned. One of the men from the store was sauntering their way. “Ken, don’t touch that card,” he told the boy, who frowned but returned the card.

“Best we say that you took the gas at gunpoint. Hell, you got enough guns, don’t you?”