Patriot’s Stand mda-9

by Mike Moscoe

  L. J. stiffened back to full attention. “I was given the last contract because it was something new. I take it that your giving me command of a seize-and-hold expresses the regiment’s full confidence in my command ability.” There—swallow that, Colonel.

  The Colonel slowly stood, eyed L. J., then scowled at the other two present. “No, Major, your selection for this command reflects my confidence in no way. My accounts manager tells me that his fine print requires that the commander of the previous raid command this operation. My legal assistant is no help at all. He says I must accept the crap-for-language that this civilian reviewed and told me I could sign.

  “Major, I am not happy with any of the three men in my office. You, at least, will be out of my sight for the next six months.” He turned to Major Thomas and Amadeus. “You other two will be around to irritate me. But you can take my word on this to the bank with your final paycheck. If there is another snafu the likes of this, I will personally have the best lawyer on Galatea review both of your employment contracts and terminate them. Am I understood?”

  Their affirmations came back machine-gun fast. Even Amadeus was on his lazy feet, in haste to get out of the room.

  “Look on the bright side,” Major Thomas said once they were outside.

  “There’s a bright side?” L. J. asked.

  “You’ve got a second independent command.”

  “Yeah,” Amadeus agreed, “if he doesn’t get his throat slit.”

  7

  Steerage-Class Accommodations

  DropShip Good Sense to Stay Home III

  En route from Galatea to Alkalurops

  29 May 3134

  Grace may have paid for the tickets, but the MechWarriors selected their own accommodations. Betsy and Syn tossed their duffels into one cabin, leaving Grace with Victoria. Ben and Chato took one room, Sven and George another. That left Danny and Jobe together with young Sean. “You can’t bunk that lad with Danny,” Victoria insisted, beginning Grace’s indepth education on the people she’d hired.

  “It’s either them or one of the other two cabins with guys,” Grace said, not willing to share her room with the youngster.

  “You don’t think Sean and I are lovers,” Victoria snapped. “He’s young enough to be my son.”

  “Yes, he is,” Grace said. “And you two are close enough to be mother and son,” she said, leaving it at that.

  “He’s just a kid who deserves better than he’s getting. And maybe I do act like a mother hen,” the older woman said, taking a seat on the bunk across from Grace’s. “I’ve met a lot of MechWarrior wanna-bes, but never anyone as determined as Sean. He’d make a great staff officer, but he wants to fight ’Mechs.”

  “Is he good in a ’Mech?” Grace asked.

  Victoria settled on the bunk. “Poor kid almost tripped his ’Mech over its own feet the first time they put him in one. Got dizzy from the height and lost his lunch. He looked so pathetic as they dragged him from the cockpit. They wanted to wash him out despite his sim scores. He was in tears begging for another chance. I said I’d help—give him a hand.”

  The woman stared at the ceiling. “The Clans raise kids without them ever knowing their parents. That harshness is supposed to make the kids stronger. I wonder if it isn’t harder on the parents. The race’s survival for millions of years has depended on us women mothering the next generation to manhood.”

  Victoria turned her gaze on Grace. “You have children?”

  “Not yet. I suppose in time.”

  “There won’t be any time for me. So, yes, I’ve helped Sean as his own mother might have if she hadn’t died. And we both ended up on the street just before all hell broke out with this HPG failure. Him because he was untried and stuttered, and me… Well, me because I’m me.”

  Which was another question entirely, to examine some other time. “Once the ship steadies on 1G, want to go for a run?”

  “I’m in. And maybe I can rescue Sean from Danny’s clutches for some solid physical training. If Sean’s not careful, Danny will give him an education in all the wrong things.”

  An hour later Grace and Victoria went running. Ben was also out in gym shorts and a towel. Good-looking man, Grace allowed. George Stillwell joined them, and Grace showed them aft to a trail among the huge containers.

  The second day’s run was with Ben alone. The man set a fast pace, but not so quick that Grace couldn’t ask about Victoria. “Paths do not always lead where they should,” the albino said. “Victoria is a superb ’Mech handler. An expert eye for the right target at the essential moment. However, she is not one to socialize. Danny told me that she once attended a dinner and kept the same glass of scotch in her hand all evening—untouched. She does not drink, nor does she carouse. While she does not judge those who do, I know that Danny feels the hot breath of guilt every time he sees her. Their banter is light, but there is true steel at the heart of it. With things the way they were before the HPG went down, that was enough to put Victoria Birdwell on the outside looking in.”

  That answered, Grace went on to ask the questions her own study of ’Mech warfare on the trip to Galatea had left unanswered. Ben shared lunch with her, and the others quickly joined them.

  As days and weeks went by, they answered Grace’s questions, but raised two new ones for every one they answered. And those two raised four more questions that usually resulted in three more answers and the fourth being met with a shrug. But since that fourth could easily kill you, Grace usually pushed the matter until the warriors glanced around the table and admitted there was no answer to it. You accepted it as part of the job or left for other employment.

  “Are there no situations in mining that will kill you in a flash and do not yield to any of the safety precautions you can imagine?” Ben said by way of conclusion.

  Grace pursed her lips at that. Certainly hard-rock mining underground could go from fine to hell in a flash if you tapped into an unforeseen gas pocket or water sump. “Yes, there are some things you just accept,” she admitted.

  “And there are things we leave to luck. When your luck runs out, it is just gone.”

  “Of course, a good man will be running right along with it,” Danny said with a laugh, as he raised an imaginary mug in salute.

  Grace continued her education, even during runs. One day she tapped George for a jog. “Isn’t maneuver warfare pretty cut-and-dried?” she asked. “I’ve read the book the Twenty-first Centauri wrote on maneuver warfare. It says where to put your tanks and your infantry—and the tactics look pretty hard to beat, either in attack or defense. What does that leave a commander like you to do?”

  George chuckled as he jogged along. “Everything, my dear mayor. Everything.” He paused to let that sink in, then went on. “If you write the book, everyone who pays good money to buy it must consider you the expert. Is that the way it is in mining?”

  “Yes,” Grace said, dodging around a large-diameter pipe.

  “Well, if you read the book and I read the book, who wins when we both apply the book?”

  Grace didn’t see an answer to that question. “In mining, I apply the book’s answer and the minerals flow,” she said.

  “But minerals don’t have the nasty habit of shooting back.”

  Grace laughed. “Not the last time I got to do any mining.”

  “And they aren’t likely to develop that tendency the next time, but my opposition does so rather regularly. I want to be where I can shoot at him before he can shoot at me. If he studiously applies the book answer, I know exactly where he’ll be at any given time. If I don’t follow the book, he won’t know where I am. Easier to shoot at him and not get shot at.”

  “Assuming you are smarter than the book,” Grace pointed out.

  “Assuming my boss is willing to admit that there is such a thing as being smarter than the Twenty-first Centauri’s book. That’s why I’m working for you, if you were curious. The Kell Hounds like to win. The present CO can’t conceive of a better way t
o win than by applying the book. So long as he goes up against idiots who haven’t read the book—and there are a lot just now—he wins. Even if he fights someone who’s read the book, he won’t do worse than a tie, which most clients find okay. Is a tie okay by you?”

  “That’s what I got last time. Cost Alkalurops good people and good ’Mechs. Probably would have lost more if they’d had a bigger ship. Next time, I want to win.”

  “Glad to be working for you,” George said, reaching across to shake her hand without missing a step in his jog.

  The JumpShip Off We Go was done charging, so there was no delay getting to Alkalurops. A few days later Grace learned more than she wanted about Syn Bakai when she was called to the captain’s cabin at two in the morning. While the MechWarrior sat off to one side, buffing her nails and wearing nothing but underwear that covered little and interfered with the view even less, the captain fixed Grace with a gimlet eye.

  “I don’t much care for passengers sleeping with my crew. It’s bad for the morale of thems what get left out, though your woman here doesn’t seem to have missed many. What I will not allow is a passenger dealing herself into the crew’s poker game and concealing extra cards on her person. That is hazardous to a player’s life. The Line takes a dim view on the odd passenger showing up suddenly dead. You paid for her ticket. You keep her out of my hair for the rest of this run.”

  Grace escorted Syn back to the room she shared with Betsy Ross. “You will stay in passenger country or I will have Ben and Victoria space you, you understand me?”

  “Get a sense of humor, Mayor. Those swabbies were just having a little fun feeling me up.”

  “And finding cards,” Grace said, holding up the four aces the captain had given her to back up his claims. Slowly Grace tore them in half and gave them to Syn. “I don’t play poker, Syn. I can’t bluff worth beans, but cross me—cause us trouble before you prove you’re worth the effort—and I’ll see you dead.”

  Syn said nothing more as she slipped into her cabin. Back in her own, Grace asked Victoria what unit Syn was from.

  “Bannson’s Raiders. If you want a guess from me, they’re the likeliest group to have taken a raiding contract. If you’ve got a snarling enemy in front of you and a Bannson’s Raider behind you, turn around, or at least keep one hand on your wallet.”

  “Syn should have fit right in.”

  “Too true. I understand she was too much even for them. But I once saw her in a tournament. She had her ’Mech dancing on a wall not twenty centimeters wide. You’ll want her. Either to fight for you or to slit her throat, but you’ll want her.”

  Only Betsy remained an enigma to Grace as they approached their landing on Alkalurops. No question that the woman knew her infantry tactics inside and out. Her grasp of large-formations tactics left Sean silent in his seat, taking notes, and George nodding quietly. What she knew about small-scale, special-ops-type jobs left Grace shaking her head. She’d followed the news from several planets along the border of House Davion that had suddenly changed governors over the last several years. Betsy tended to let drop a bit of this and some of that to the point that Grace was pretty sure the woman had been involved in some way. What was someone like that doing looking for a job? Grace considered asking the woman if she had big enemies that Grace should know about, but somehow the topic never came up. After Betsy showed them some hand-to-hand tricks that left Jobe shaking his head and rubbing his throat where she could have killed him, Grace made a mental note to stay on Betsy’s good side.

  They were on final approach when Ben called them all into the ship’s lounge. “We took our leave of Galaport rather hastily. Not that spending an extra day there would have been worth it,” Ben said once they settled in. “Normally, a mercenary unit clears its contract through the Mercenary Review and Bonding Commission. I do not think Grace could have paid the board’s minimum fee after Ally took her for the ride Grace was hoping Ally would take instead.” That got a laugh. “And we did get everything Sven could beg, steal, or borrow to keep us alive next fight. But Grace had nothing left over to post bond. As I recall, none of you even paused to ask our gracious host what the pay was. Now, I understand a miner can expect to earn about fifteen hundred a month, so I’ve got a contract here calling for us to be guaranteed the princely sum of three twenty-five.”

  The warriors looked at one another. Danny groaned as if for all of them. “Clerks get better pay. But since you put it that way, I guess I can get along on that.”

  “In return for this monetary consideration, we pledge our sacred honor to the defense of the people of Alkalurops,” Ben finished. He produced a pen and signed the contract. One by one, the others signed below his name. That left plenty of space on it when he handed the paper to Grace.

  She studied it for a moment. “Sacred honor is highly valued where I come from,” she said, then wrote below their names for a moment. “In return, I pledge all that I possess in guarantee of this contract,” she said, and signed it. Chato took the pen from her and added his name as well.

  “My first wife is going to tan my hide for this,” Jobe said, but he reached for the pen and added his name.

  Ben folded the paper. “Now we begin—warriors, miners, farmers—to see where our dreams will lead us.”

  Allabad, Alkalurops

  5 August 3134

  Grace called Angus Throckmorton from the spaceport and tasked him with renting a wareyard or machine shop. Jobe set to arranging transport for their gear. Most of the MechWarriors stayed with him, but Grace, Chato, Ben and Betsy hailed a cab and headed for the Guild Hall. A meeting was in session, which sounded much like the last one Grace attended. She spotted the little old woman who had been the first to give her an encouraging word and joined her at the tea cart.

  “You’re back so soon,” the woman said.

  “Stranger things have happened,” Grace admitted. “What’s under discussion?”

  “Whether we should apportion votes in the Council of Elders based on the taxes paid to support our government,” the woman said with a smile. “That will decide how the election goes for temporary Governor, you know.”

  “I didn’t,” Grace said. “We haven’t elected a Governor?”

  “Oh, heavens no, dear child. I don’t think we’ve agreed on anything since you left. Your wanting to hire people to train our militia raised the issue of taxes immediately. We can’t defend ourselves on the small income The Republic generates here. No, we need to raise money, and that is such a touchy subject.”

  “Yes, I know.” Grace scowled, having just pledged her own land as guarantee for eight paychecks.

  “Grace,” Betsy cut in, “is there any chance we could get the floor for a few minutes? We really need to know what Alkalurops is willing to pony up for their own defense, and they need to know what you’ve hired.”

  “I was kind of hoping I could talk to a few people alone first. Folks around here take to ideas a little at a time. Hit them too hard and they can get a bit skittish.”

  “Grace, I heard you were due back,” Garry McGuire said from the head of the table. “Are those some of the MechWarrior candidates you brought back for us to interview.”

  “Candidates?” Ben said with an arched eyebrow.

  “These are both fully qualified MechWarriors,” Grace said by way of introduction as she walked toward him. Again, no surprise, her table was now occupied by men who headed small suburban communities around Little London. The Council was whoever the Council said it was.

  “This is Ben Lone Cat, once a Nova Cat, and this is Betsy Ross, an expert in infantry tactics. I hired them.”

  “You hired them?” Dev Coughlin, who still sat at Garry’s right, jumped up. “You did not have permission to hire anyone when you left here.”

  Grace would have to put a stop to this right now. “Dev, I had authority to commit as much as ten percent of what profits were generated on Alkalurops last year. I also had to hire them. It takes almost six weeks to travel here, one-w
ay. People do not come here for interviews. They come here for jobs.”

  Garry pulled on the sleeve of his crony, and Dev sat down. “I can see how you might have left with that impression,” Garry began soothingly. “Why don’t you give us a few minutes to talk to your, ah, associates. We do need help, and if you think these fine people can defend Alkalurops, we should hire them.”

  “Who will be defending whom?” Ben said to Grace.

  “Just let them get comfortable,” Grace said. Chairs were produced, but that caused a debate on where to set them. Finally, a space was cleared on the side at right angles to Garry and Dev.

  “See the nice animals,” Betsy said, her smile showing plenty of teeth. “Grace, assure them we haven’t bitten anyone lately.”

  “And, dear Betsy, I thought you were about due for your rabies shot,” Ben said, disproving Grace’s conviction the man was incapable of humor—she hoped.

  “Young lady,” Garry said to Betsy, “I didn’t catch what merc unit you were from.”

  The olive-skinned woman smiled at him. “I didn’t say.”

  “How can we get references from them if we don’t know them?”

  Betsy laughed, a clear bell of an affair. Beside her, Ben muffled a chuckle, and Grace began to suspect today was not going to go as she planned. “Old man, I would not ask any of my former employers for references. I can’t recall one that would admit to having employed me, and I can’t think of one I would want to admit to being employed by.”

  “Every good employee carries references,” Dev said.

  “For jobs like maid or street sweeper,” Betsy shot back. “But that’s not what you want. You need someone who can kill a man five ways before his body hits the ground. You want a commander who can turn your town into a death trap for any ’Mech stupid enough to stalk your streets. People like that don’t come with fine pedigrees and completed paperwork. We are few, and we are rarely remembered fondly.”