by Chris Bunch
“We have already provided for that,” von Baldur said, wondering just how dumb Maffer thought they were.
There was room for only one set of thieves in this operation.
Jasmine had already contacted a perfectly straight accounting firm back on Trimalchio, who, once they were reassured there wasn’t any real risk, was eager to see a little adventure.
“That’s quite an order,” Maffer said.
“It is,” von Baldur agreed. “We shall pay a percentage of the first three weeks’ salaries to the men, in advance, through you and their commanders. Otherwise, payroll is every two E-weeks.”
• • •
Technician Ells had whistled at the number of ships Star Risk had in mind, said, a bit humbly, they’d have to increase the maintenance crews.
“Increase away,” King told him.
“My metric ass,” Ells said. “Up to the point we’re not working around the clock?”
“Up to the point,” King said, “where different shifts are working around the clock. And by the way, these ships will not be flown or crewed by Khelat.”
“That,” Ells said, “will reduce the workload by half right there.”
“I’m not worried,” King said. “I have full faith in your hem-hem efficiency.”
Ells colored. Jasmine had told him about her inability to break through his perimeter, and he was still apologizing.
No one on his team, or with Star Risk, of course, ever intended to let him forget it.
• • •
Grok was left to keep a presence, being considered the least tired and the most reliable.
Riss, von Baldur, Ells, and Redon Spada went out to, as Goodnight said, “kick tires.”
They kicked a lot of tires, and made Winlund, the rather attractive, if a bit avaricious, salesperson with Chamkani Starship Systems, almost as happy as Hal Maffer.
They leased twenty armed transports and forty small, Pyrrhus-like patrol ships for their escorts.
Fifteen destroyers went on the ticket, and while Ells stayed behind, making sure the ships were brought up to full operating readiness, or as near to it as the outback would allow, the other three went on to the planet of Boyington.
They took a lavish suite at the Bishop Inn, and announced they were hiring pilots and crews.
This time they didn’t need to haunt the bars. The pilots came looking for them.
Riss wished they’d brought Jasmine to filter through the more-than-sometimes-specious flight records, but Spada said she wasn’t needed — he’d spent enough of his life around pilots to have a built-in bullshit detector.
Spada took Riss out to dinner, reserving a private dining chamber at the Bishop Inn.
Even if he was an almost nondrinker, he’d learned about wines from somewhere, and a better vintage was served with each course.
Riss was first thinking that Freddie should have been along, since he was a much better connoisseur than M’chel, and second wondering if she ought to go along with Redon when he started making moves.
He was nice-looking, even if on the smallish side, and it had been a long while since Dov Lanchester.
Riss was just thinking it might be a perfect end to a wonderful evening, and deciding Spada’s lips did look kissable, when the door slammed open.
Riss dove for her hideout gun, then realized the raiders were all pilots.
Drunken pilots.
They leapt on Spada, and, yodeling obscenities, hauled the cursing, struggling master pilot away.
“The tight-fisted bastard is always saying he’ll buy us a round when we’re back to civilization,” one pilot explained as the swearing, struggling mass of flight-suited men and women disappeared down the corridor. “Now we’re going to collect. You care to come along?”
Riss thought about it, shook her head.
Von Baldur chuckled when she told him about the non-evening.
“The gods of war evidently wish to keep you pure,” he said.
M’chel growled.
“Would you care to go along with me?” Friedrich asked. “I am now ready to buy — or rent, at any rate — my toy.”
Riss passed.
• • •
Friedrich went back to Chamkani Starship Systems and asked Winlund to find him a “proper” battleship.
She decided, after one week, she’d never had a bigger pain in the pilot’s seat for a client.
Von Baldur looked at all the battleships in her yard, and rejected them all.
Winlund tried to explain that battlewagons were only built by rich, foolish nations, up to their necks in war and thinking they needed a fleet, and hence a ship to organize the fleet around.
Von Baldur listened politely, said, “If you cannot provide me with what I want, I am sure there is someone out there who can.”
And so, in Star Risk’s freshly leased yacht, they went afield.
This ship was in too bad shape.
The next was too old.
The next was too small.
The next was too big.
In desperation, Winlund seduced von Baldur, thinking that would make him more amenable to reason.
All that did was put her in a better, if exhausted mood, and a determination never to think that graying temples were necessarily a sign of reduced capability.
But at last, they found one.
Technically, it was a “very large, protected cruiser.” But it was a kilometer long, sleek, fast, and very heavily armed.
Best of all, from von Baldur’s position, was its enormous admiral’s quarters, more than enough to hold the other members of Star Risk in comfort.
Von Baldur signed the papers, asked Winlund to find a crew for the beast, named it the Pride of Khelat, and went back to the Khelat System.
• • •
“I think,” von Baldur announced, “what with one thing or another — ”
“You mean finally having your own battleship.” Goodnight snickered.
Von Baldur ignored him.
“I repeat, what with one thing and another, we are finally ready to clean up this mess.”
A messenger from the communications center knocked, was admitted.
Von Baldur scanned the flimsy.
“We are summoned to an audience with King Saleph.”
“Uh-oh,” Riss said.
“He has an idea about the coming offensive.”
“Uh-oh twice.”
“Don’t be so diplomatic about things,” Goodnight said. “Put it a better way. The odds are, we’re gonna be truly screwed.
“Seven to five. Any takers?”
THIRTY-EIGHT
“I think,” King Saleph said, sprawled comfortably in the midst of what he’d dubbed his war room, “I have, with the assistance of Princes Jer and Barab, come up with the perfect plan to begin our offensive to utterly wipe out the Shaoki.”
Both von Baldur and Riss kept poker faces.
They were still recovering from the room itself. It looked as if a pillow factory and an electronics firm had combined stock, and the warehouse had then exploded.
Khelat technicians scurried about, and there were uniforms aplenty. None of them, except for the two Star Risk operatives, were mercenaries.
“Indeed,” Friedrich said.
“The Shaoki,” the king said, “are girding for the great struggle. But they don’t realize that there is a dagger aimed at the heart of their worlds, at the Shaoki III system.”
“Your Majesty refers to …” von Baldur asked.
“To the world of Shaoki VI/III,” Prince Barab said.
Riss thought, remembered it. Vaguely.
“That’s an uninhabited system, correct? Except for some mining plants and ore processors.”
“It is,” the king said. “Although it’s very recently been garrisoned by some mercenary unit calling itself the Malleus Maulers. All that will be necessary is for us to occupy III, and use it as a springboard from there into the heart of the Shaoki system.”
“How
long ago did they put this unit on III?” von Baldur asked.
“Within the week,” Prince Jer said.
“And how long, Your Highness,” von Baldur asked, “have you been considering attacking the VI worlds?”
“About two weeks,” Saleph said.
“Does not that suggest to you that there may be an intelligence leak here on Khelat II? The Malleus Maulers are highly regarded, from what I have heard, and we may be walking into a trap.”
“Not to mention,” Riss put in, “III has little or no atmosphere, as I recall, and fighting in a vacuum is a hard job, even for experienced troops.”
The king flushed.
Both Barab and Jer started yammering in anger at von Baldur.
He held up both hands.
“Just a thought,” he said. “I am sure I am incorrect.”
“Even a better reason to attack,” King Saleph said. “Have the two of you no confidence in the vast number of soldiers you’ve placed on my payroll? It shall be the Maulers who get mauled.
“Even as we speak, I’ve ordered a special training cycle to begin, training our noble warriors to fight under the most stringent circumstances.”
“I have great confidence in our soldiers,” von Baldur said quietly. “But I would have appreciated a bit of time to shake them out.”
“That,” Jer said, “is exactly what the Shaoki must be thinking.”
“Yes,” the king said excitedly. “We must seize the moment.”
Von Baldur thought about arguing, realized it was pointless.
“I’ll bring my staff in,” he said, “whenever you’re ready to give us a briefing.”
“That’s more like it,” Saleph said in satisfaction. “The victory will be to the swift.”
“No doubt,” Friedrich agreed.
• • •
Leaving, M’chel and von Baldur encountered Prince Jer in the corridor.
“A word with you, sir?” M’chel asked.
“Of course,” Jer said, stepping aside from his entourage and bodyguards.
“Actually, two words,” Riss said. “Detachment 34.”
She smiled, bowed, as Jer’s eyes bulged.
M’chel took von Baldur’s elbow, moved him away.
“Now, why,” Friedrich said, “did you go and give the bastard warning? Machiavelli would have been horrified.”
“I guess I’m just not the sub-tile sort,” Riss said. “And I know what you keep saying about never wising up a chump. I just think it’s more fun when they can see it coming … and can’t do anything about it.”
Friedrich shook his head skeptically.
“The damned marines never do anything other than frontal assaults.”
THIRTY-NINE
“Nacherly, there’s a bigmouth somewhere in the works,” Goodnight said. “But whether it’s a traitor or just a boaster … who knows?”
“And, really, who cares?” Grok said. “If we first convince the king someone is an agent, everyone will immediately start, as Chas might put it, jumping through his own asshole looking for the traitor, and meantime, nothing will get done.”
“It’s about your speech patterns,” Jasmine said. “You have been associating with the wrong sort of people, Amanandrala Grokkonomonslf.”
The furry alien might have been trying to look sheepish.
“We’ve had at least two hours to plot,” Riss said. “Come on, people. Let’s come up with something. Or, anyway, modify the something we’ve already got.”
“First of all,” von Baldur said, “this puts all of Chas’s carefully figured strategy in a cocked hat, since we shall play hell changing the king’s mind about his project.”
“I think,” Riss said, “our current tactics — tactics, not strategy — should be getting the king to delay his Great Plan until we get our troops here. Even a day or a week’ll help.
“And I think there’s at least one tactic that should stand: I think Goodnight should get out there and singe some beards.”
“I wouldn’t mind some action,” Chas said thoughtfully. “Any particular places you got in mind?”
“As a matter of fact,” Riss said, and indicated a hand to Jasmine, “our new partner has been doing some plotting. Take it, mynheer.”
“When Freddie sent the com on the way back from the palace and said everything was up for grabs,” King said, “I put Redon Spada and his patrol boats on standby. We can slave them to one of the transports, and jump toward the Shaoki worlds and take off from there.
“Take one destroyer along, for escort on the destroyer, with Grok and some of his people, and do some electronic deceptions while you’re out.
“Grok and I figure you could rattle the Shaoki cages, and maybe distract them from building up this trap on VI/III.
“Hit, say, Thur, then make maybe a feint against Irdis. Hit Berfan hard, and by then we’ll probably need you back for VI/III.”
There was utter, stunned silence in the room.
Goodnight blinked. Thur, the capital world of Shaoki II. Irdis, the Shaoki worlds’ capital, and the capital of the Shaoki III system. Berfan, the military capital of Shaoki III. It was nothing if not ambitious.
“We should let our Jasmine get chased around more often,” Friedrich said admiringly. “That sounds very good.”
“It should,” she said smugly. “But all I did was look at what we had…. And Grok kept me honest.”
“Well,” Goodnight said, getting up, “leave the light on in the window, my friends. I may be out a little late.”
FORTY
Goodnight, even though he wasn’t planning on doing any work on the ground, wasn’t happy his two battalions of shock troops hadn’t arrived yet.
Maybe he’d been a little too picky, insisting on a recruiter well inside the Alliance and going with people from units whose reputation he knew.
Chas preferred operating under two conditions: either solo or with a hand-picked team of his own choosing, with women and men he’d already seen the elephant with.
But there was no choice now available at hand.
He had to get out in the field before King Saleph learned of his plans, since it would be almost certain the Khelat would object to anything not directly preparing for the invasion of Shaoki VI/III.
So he chose ten men and women, more or less as bodyguards, just to have someone at his back, smiling wryly at the thought. He had no plans of getting away from a nice, comfortable spaceship unless plans went seriously wrong. As deep as he planned going into in the Shaoki worlds, he’d need a prayer wheel, not a sprinkle of thugs.
Those ten were one of the best investments Goodnight ever made.
• • •
Goodnight checked out the transport, decided it was a little too wallowy, settled for the command suite aboard Inchcape’s Fletcher for his quarters/operations office. If it had been built for an admiral, he thought, it had been a very short one with a minuscule staff.
Linked to the transport, hastily renamed the King’s Sword Bearer, were ten three-man Pyrrhus-class patrol boats under Redon Spada.
Their crews, along with a maintenance team, rode aboard the Sword. The patrol boats were most cramped, and there was no particular reason to start living like an armpit until the shooting started.
Besides, it gave Spada time to get to know his new crewmen.
About the best troop, he thought, was an ex-Alliance ensign named L’hommage Curtis. Goodnight took notice, realized she was quite pretty, sighed at his personal commandment that you didn’t screw in combat, and generally not at all with your juniors or anyone else on your team unless you were crazy.
Goodnight ignored his own periodic attempts, growing more and more feeble, to bed Jasmine King, and his halfhearted pass at M’chel.
The Sword and accompanying ships lifted off Khelat II in the middle of the night and jumped into nothingness.
Their next appearance in real space was to be off Shaoki II’s capital, Thur.
• • •
Thu
r presented a host of targets. Goodnight consulted both the microfiches that Jasmine and Grok had reflexively prepared on all their friends and enemies.
A nice old-fashioned nuclear plant? Naw. That left the terrain dirty and hardly worth occupying; the same reason almost no one used nuclear bombs these days.
An orbital fortress or two? No. He had ideas about some of the ones on their next visit, which would be to the Shaoki Ill’s military capital of Berfan.
Now how about this one? … Yes, indeedy.
Goodnight summoned Spada, issued his operations order, said he’d be riding along.
The target was a singularly juicy combination arms plant and starport, used almost exclusively by the Shaoki navy.
• • •
The Sword had come into the system unobserved, and no one reported the flurry of drives as the patrol boats cut away from the Sword, and, using one of the moons for a cover, crept up on Thur.
Spada had used an ancient trick and plotted the sun’s position on his attack board, which completely perplexed some of his crew.
But not for long.
The ten patrol boats were broken into two fingers-five formations, and came in-atmosphere between the sun and the field.
The time was an hour after dawn, when Goodnight had calculated the crews down on the airfield would be just changing shifts and having breakfast and the workers in the plant were just showing up, thus creating a good-sized traffic jam.
The p-boats flashed down on the field, armed with kilotons of very primitive guided bombs.
Spada brought the ships down to one thousand meters, which would give the weapons officers time to aim.
Methodically, the officers focused their sights from rank to rank of the parked ships, telling their bombs to “look around,” and find targets.
Once targets were confirmed, the bombs were locked on and dropped, and the officers went on to pick new targets.
It was quite lovely — the Shaoki warcraft were neatly aligned as if for inspection, or for a beginner’s bombing practice.
The second wave’s target was even easier — anywhere and everywhere on that arms plant.
Bombs dripped down like a sower’s casting, and the long industrial buildings erupted in flames.
