Field operatives, even common soldiers, are expensive; management does not expend them casually. A trained assassin costs at least ten times as much as a common soldier: She is not expected to get herself killed-goodness me, no! She is expected to make the kill and get out, scot-free.

But whoever was running this show had gone bankrupt in one night.

Unprofessional.

Therefore it was not Boss.

But I still could not figure out who was behind the whole silly gymkhana because I could not see who benefitted. My earlier notion, that one of the corporate nations was paying for it, no longer looked as attractive because I could not conceive of one of the big ones (Interworld, for example) hiring any but the best professionals.

But it was even harder to picture one of the territorial nations planning such a grotesque attempt at world conquest.

As for a fanatic group, such as the Angels of the Lord or the Stimulators, the job was just too big. Nevertheless the whole thing seemed to have a fanatic flavor-not rational, not pragmatic.

It is not written in the stars that I will always understand what is going on-a truism that I often find damnably annoying.

The morning after that second strike Vicksburg low town buzzed with excitement. I had just stepped into a saloon to check with the head barkeep when a runner sidled up to me. "Good news," this youngster said in a prison whisper. "Rachel's Raiders is signing 'em on-Rachel said to tell you especially."

"Pig swill," I answered politely. "Rachel doesn't know me and I don't know Rachel."

"Scout's honor!"

"You were never a Scout and you can't spell honor."

"Look, Chief," he persisted, "I haven't had anything to eat today. Just walk in with me; you don't have to sign. It's only across the street."

reached the gangly stage, that sudden spurt in adolescence; low town is not a place where people go hungry. But the bartender chose that moment to snap, "Beat it, Shorty! Quit bothering the customers. You want to buy a broken thumb?"

"It's okay, Fred," I put in. "I'll check with you later." I dropped a bill on the bar, did not ask for change. "Come, Shorty."

Rachel's recruiting office turned out to be quite a lot of mud farther than across the street, and two more recruiter's runners tried to pluck me away from Shorty before we got there. They did not stand a chance as my only purpose was to see that this sorry youngster collected his cumshaw.

The recruiting sergeant reminded me of the old cow who had the concessions in the rest room of the Palace at San Jose. She looked at me and said, "No camp doxies, sugar tit. But stick around and I might buy you a drink."

"Pay your runner," I said.

"Pay him for what?" she answered. "Leonard, I told you. No idlers, I said. Now get back out there and hustle."

I reached across and grasped her left wrist. Quite smoothly her knife appeared in her right hand. So I rearranged things, taking the knife and sticking it into the desk in front of her, while changing my hold on her left paw to one much more annoying. "Can you pay him one-handed?" I asked. "Or do I break this finger?"

"Easy there," she answered, not fighting it. "Here, Leonard." She reached into a drawer, handed him a Texas two-spot. He grabbed it and vanished.

I eased the pressure on her finger. "Is that all you're paying? With every recruiter on the street fishing today?"

"He gets his real commission when you sign up," she answered. "Because I don't get paid until I deliver a warm body. And I get docked if it ain't to spec. Now would you mind letting go of my finger? I'll need it to make out your papers."

I surrendered her finger; quite suddenly the knife was again in her hand and moving toward me. This time I broke the blade before handing it back to her. "Please don't do that again," I said. "Please. And you should use a better steel. That's not a Solingen."

"I'm deducting the price of that blade from your bounty, dear,"

she answered, unperturbed. "There's been a beam on you since you walked in that door. Shall I trigger it? On do we quit playing

games?" -

I did not believe her but her purpose suited me. "No more games, Sarge. What's the proposition? Your runner told me swabo."

"Coffee and cakes and guild scale. Guild bounty. Ninety days with company option to extend ninety days. Wooden overcoat payme fifty-fifty, you and the company."

"Recruiters around town are offering guild plus fifty." (This was a stab in the dark; the atmosphere felt that tense.)

She shrugged. "If they are, we'll match it. What weapons do you know? We aren't signing any raw recruits. Not this time."

"I can teach you any weapon you think you know. Where's the action? Who's on first?"

"Mmm, real salty. Are you trying to sign as a DI? I don't buy it."

I asked, "Where's the action? Are we going upriver?"

"You ain't even signed up and you're asking for classified information."

"For which I am prepared to pay." I took out fifty Lone-Star, in tens, laid them in front of her. "Where's the action, Sarge? I'll buy you a good knife to replace that carbon steel I had to expend."

"You're an AP."

"Let's not play the dozens. I simply want to know whether or not we'll be going upriver. Say about as far as Saint Louis."

"Are you expecting to sign on as sergeant instructor?"

"What? Heavens, no! As a staff officer." I should not have said that-or at least not so soon. While ranks tend to be vague in Boss's outfit, I was certainly a senior officer in that I reported to and took orders from Boss and Boss alone-and this was confirmed by the fact that I was Miss Friday to everyone but Boss-until and unless I asked for informal address. Even Dr. Krasny had not spoken to me en tutoyant until I asked him to. But I had never given much thought to my actual rank because, while I had no senior but Boss, I had no one working under me, either. On a formal T.O. (I had never seen one for Boss's company) I would have to be one of those little boxes leading out horizontally from the stem to the C.O.-

i.e., a senior staff specialist, if you like bureaucratese.

"Well, fiddledeedee! If you can back that up, you'll do it to Colonel Rachel, not to me. I expect her in around thirteen." Almost absentmindedly she reached out to pick up the cash.

I picked up the bills, tapped them even, put them down again in front of her but closer to me. "So let's chat a bit before she gets here. Every live outfit in town is signing them up today; there ought to be some good reason to sign with one rather than another. Is the expected action upstream, or not? And how far? Will we be against real pros? Or local yokels? Or possibly town clowns? Pitched battle? On strike and run? Or both? Let's chat, Sarge."

She did not answer, she did not move. She did not take her eyes off the cash.

Shortly I took out another ten Lone-Star, placed it neatly on the fifty-waited.

Her nostrils dilated but she did not reach for the money. After several moments I added still another Texas ten-spot.

She said hoarsely, "Put that stuff out of sight or hand it to me; somebody might walk in."

I picked it up and handed it to her. She said, "Thanks, miss," and made it vanish. "I reckon we'll go upstream at least as far as Saint Louis."

"Whom do we fight?"

"Well... you repeat this and I'll not only deny it; I'll cut your heart out and feed it to the catfish. We may not fight. More likely we will but not in a set battle. We, all of us, are going to be bodyguard to the new Chairman. The newest Chairman, I should say; he's still-wet new."

(Jackpot!) "Interesting. Why are other outfits in town jockeying for recruits? Is the new Chairman hiring everybody? Just for his palace guard?"

"Miss, I wish I knew. I purely wish I knew."