by John Ringo
"It is what is called an opening bid," Greznya said, smiling and recrossing her legs as she shifted on the couch. "I'm sure you have some reasonable counter..."
* * *
"Three euros per liter, freight on board in Georgia," Thomas said, shaking Greznya's hand and doing the same with his head. "We'll figure out a way to get the market to bear. Am I nuts?"
"If you are, so am I," Macnee said in a dazed tone.
"Contracts," Mike said, sliding them across the table. "They're taken from the standard contract that the AABA recommends. There's some wiggle room. And we'll supply the first ten thousand liters at one euro per liter along with six thousand ceramic bottles at fifty centis per bottle. You might want to look for a better supply on those, if they meet the Keldara standards."
"Will do," Thomas said, shaking his head again as he looked over the contract. For all the daze he appeared to display at the effect of the girls, more of whom had drifted in, all dressed to the nines as they found out that the negotiations were going on, he read the contract carefully. "We can do this. We will do this. And we're going to make lots of money doing it."
"You're sure?" Macnee asked, nervously.
"Yeah, I'm sure," Thomas replied. "We'll start the roll-out in New York. This September."
"Ah," Mike said. "No direct reference I hope."
"No," Thomas said. "But when we run the ads, we're going to have pics of police and firefighters with the beer. Between that and the pics of your spec-ops teams, the subtext will be clear. And we'll just let the point lie that the extra you're paying is supporting the War."
"And the girls," Macnee added, smiling at the group around him.
"We're getting a good price?" Latya asked in Georgian. She'd been snuggling up to Macnee but othewise keeping her head down during the negotiations.
"Quite survivable," Mike said in the same language. "It'll mean, at a guess, about sixty euros per month per worker. A bit more for Mother Lenka and Gurun."
"Good," Latya said, smiling. "I might actually be able to afford a husband."
"And not go through the Kardane?" Greznya said, looking over at Mike and winking.
"Oh, good point," Sarisa said, grinning. "No one would want to avoid the Kardane now."
"So I save it for when we get married," Latya added, shrugging. "Nothing says that you cannot enter into Kardane just because you can afford the price!"
"Oh, we so don't want to go there..." Mike said, sighing.
"What is this?" Macnee asked, looking at the cross-talk.
"I was explaining that we'd be able to keep the brewery running at this price," Mike said, shrugging nervously.
"There was more," Thomas said, grinning. "I could tell."
"You really don't want to know," Mike replied. "There's a lot about the internal workings of the Keldara you don't want to know."
"Anything that will affect the marketing?" Macnee asked, seriously.
"Hmmm..." Mike muttered. "The Keldara are very...conservative. The girls are more or less owned by one male or another..."
"We are not!" Greznya snapped.
"You're controlled by your father, who can..." Mike said in English and then switched to Georgian. "Let me explain this as well as I can, okay?" he said to Greznya, fiercely. "I know American customs and where there are going to be friction points, okay?"
"Okay," Greznya said, frowning.
"How old do you think Latya is?" Mike asked Macnee as the girl leaned against him harder.
"I'd put her at about twenty," the fifty-ish businessman said, shrugging. "I mean, that's a bit young..." he added, nervously fingering his wedding ring. "But I'm not planning on..."
"She's seventeen," Mike said, grinning as Macnee sat up and started to back away. "Don't let it bother you and it won't bother them. And what goes on in the suite, stays in the suite. But the point is that she's working as an intel specialist and she's a damned good one. Quite a few of these girls are married and the oldest is Greznya, who isn't by the way, and she's nineteen."
"Oh, my..." Thomas said, blinking hard.
"The Keldara grow up fast," Mike said. "Greznya is considered an old maid. Most of them get married around fifteen. These girls didn't have electricity in their homes a year ago. Now...well they're some of the best intel troops I've ever had the honor to serve with. Not to mention great models," Mike added with a grin.
"The girl in the pictures?" Macnee asked, frozen. "The redhead. How old?"
"Fifteen," Mike said, shrugging. "I checked the various laws; it's legal. She's dressed, so it's not child pornography. And you won't have to worry about a lot of information getting out about them, no matter how much interest. The Keldara don't talk and the area they live in is a restricted military zone. The point to this brewery, and other things that I'm doing, is to get them an economic boot-strap into the 21st Century; there's only so much I can do alone. They need to earn it so they understand where it comes from."
"Okay," Thomas said, looking at Greznya in even greater interest. "Where'd you learn to negotiate like that?"
"In the village market," Greznya said, shrugging. "When you have nothing, you learn to bargain for every kopek."
"I suppose there's that," Thomas said. "Well, this has been a fascinating evening, but if I don't drag Colin off, he's likely to get divorced and I can't afford that."
"Spoilsport," Macnee said, but he heaved to his feet with a sigh. "Ladies, it's been fascinating to meet you. I don't suppose we can visit?" he added to Mike.
"You, I can get through the checkpoints," Mike said. "Honestly, all that anyone who wants to get near the Keldara has to do is bribe the regular guards. But once you get to the area we enforce, nobody moves without my say."
"I think we'll leave the 'local warlord' aspect out of the marketing," Thomas said, dryly.
"Please do," Mike said. "Among other things, there are various people who would like to put my head on their wall. And I mean that quite literally."
"Another thing to keep in mind," Macnee replied. "We'll be in touch with Gurun about delivery schedules. I'm sure you have other things to do."
"Such as talk to Katya," Mike said as Greznya closed the door. "Girls, it looks like we're in the clover. But I'm not done. If you ladies could clear the suite and somebody ask Cottontail to stop by. And has anyone seen Chief Adams...?"
* * *
"You are joking, yes?" Katya said, her eyes wide as Mike finished explaining the plan.
"I am joking, no," Mike replied. "We'll talk with the doctors about it and if you absolutely say no, then the answer is, no. But you won't be able to just walk into Lunari and back out. And even if you walk in, we won't know where you are. This way, we can track you constantly and be ready to pull you out."
"I agreed to do this for twenty thousand euros," Katya said, angrily. "But not to get cut on beforehand. I will probably get cut enough in Lunari."
"Do you want more money?" Mike asked, shrugging. "I will promise you this, if the surgery goes bad I will put you in a very nice place and set you up for the rest of your life."
"I won't be able to see it, yes!" Katya snapped.
"Tropical paradise, guaranteed," Mike said, seriously. "Servants and all the rest. How much do you want for this?"
"The same either way," Katya replied, tightly. "If I do this operation, we are done. I get very much money and a nice place someplace warm. I'll make my own way from there."
"Done," Mike said. "There might be some requirements to tell them how things are going after the fact. Can you handle that? Among other things, it would mean that you'd have the US government taking care of at least part of your medical."
"Probably," Katya said, frowning. "But I still want the tropical island."
"Agreed," Mike said, smiling. "So, to be clear, that's a yes?"
Katya paused for a long moment and then shrugged.
"Yes."
"I'll point one thing more out, though."
"What?" Katya asked.
"You're
going to be wired for sound and video the rest of your life," Mike said. "Admittedly, it will be a limited number of people that can access it. And with your looks, you can get in just about anywhere. The US government is probably going to be showering you with money to try to get you to do other ops. You're going to be the world's top super bug until they find somebody else crazy enough to do this. And with your looks and...training I'd be surprised if you couldn't get in about anywhere."
"Why don't you, then?" Katya asked, her brow furrowed.
"I'm a fighter not a lover."
"And I'm a killer, not a lover," Cottontail pointed out, with a purely evil smile.
* * *
Mike was tapping his foot, angrily, watching the Keldara take down the last of the display.
The convention was over, the troops were packed, and he still hadn't heard from Adams. He was beginning to think that maybe the redoubtable former SEAL had run into a mugger or something. Maybe he should call the damned morgue. Or, hell, face it, the chief might have just decided that being around Mike wasn't conducive to long life and prosperity. Although he'd been making more money with Mike than he'd make doing virtually any job for which he was trained and prepared.
"Kildar," Gurun said, diffidently. "We have all the gear packed. It is time to go."
"Where in the fuck is..." Mike started to say and then stopped as he saw Adams wander around a set of booths that still hadn't been taken down. He was noticeably weaving and appeared to be in lousy shape. Mike wasn't sure what... Oh. Hell. He'd forgotten about Adams and Las Vegas. He shouldn't have, but that last weekend had been a long time ago. And, frankly, Mike didn't remember most of it.
"Been on a bender, Ass-boy?" Mike asked, maliciously, as soon as he was sure that Adams was suffering from a hangover and not malaria.
"Oh, Go'," the chief replied, leaning up against a booth and stifling a belch. He scratched under a, apparently new, Hooter's t-shirt for a moment and contemplated the scenery blurrily. He also had picked up a pair of Bermuda shorts, somewhere, that were at least a couple of sizes too large. They appeared to be belted with string. "Wha' day is it?" The words were distinctly slurred.
"Monday," Mike said. "The day we're leaving."
"Good," Adams said, trying to stand to attention. "I ma' mo'ment."
"Is that all you have to say for yourself?" Mike asked, bitingly, putting his hands on his hips. "That you made movement?! You're supposed to be my second-in-command! You're not a fucking meat anymore, chief!"
"How 'bout, 'Viva Las Vegas!'?" the chief replied and belched again. "Or, 'I ha' a rea'y fuckin' good fuckin' ti'e'? Wha' I can rer'mem'er of it."
With that, the chief slowly slumped down the side of the booth until he was flat on his back on the convention hall floor. Then he began to snore.
"I'm tempted to send him home in the container..." Mike muttered.
* * *
Chapter Thirty-Four
"Mr. Jenkins," the doctor said, nodding and looking over at Katya. "And you would be, potentially, Patient Number 7194."
Mike had sent the rest of the Keldara back to Georgia along with Chief Adams, Vanner and Carlson-Smith, who seemed to be permanently attached to their collective hip until the mission was complete. He had stopped in Virginia, however, to stick with Katya for the procedure and ensure she was taken care of. He still wasn't sure where the hospital was; the drive had involved the normal closed van. Just "somewhere in Virginia" down in the flat-country. He couldn't place it within a hundred miles.
"Wow, lots of casualties, lately," Mike said, smiling.
"We do not, in fact, increment by patient," the doctor replied. Mike had to assume he was a doctor, since he said he was. But the usual plaques were distinctly missing from the bare walls of the spartan office. "Otherwise people could make a guess such as you just made as to casualty rates among black units. The total number of patients operated upon by this hospital is as secret as their individual identities."
"I like this place," Katya said, smiling in her friendliest manner at the rotund physician. "I am told of what is plan. Put in microphone and camera. In body."
"Not exactly a camera," the doctor said, pulling out some papers and sliding around to the other side of the desk. "We're going to insert a small bundle of wires into your visual cortex, where the optic nerve intersects the brain. These, together with a microprocessor and a small transmitter, will decode the view that your eyes are sending to the brain. This procedure has been successfully demonstrated on everything up to and including chimpanzees. There has not, yet, been an attempt with a human. The technology is very cutting edge and, frankly, we haven't found anyone willing to undergo the procedure. You're aware of this?"
"Yes," Katya said, shrugging. "I am being paid much to do this mission and I need the...things."
"Very well," the doctor said. "However, I have to warn you of potential known side-effects as well as possible unknown side-effects."
"Go ahead," Katya said, sighing.
"There is a possibility of reduction or loss of sight," the doctor said. "We haven't actually had a patient that could tell us just how accurate their sight is and how it has changed. There are visual acuity tests for animals, but they're not entirely accurate. There is a possibility of long term sight degradation. There is a possibility of long term secondary cranial degradation. There is very little data on long term brain implants available. Infection around the implantation sight could cause cerebral damage, brain damage that is. Damage is also possible from the long-term degradation. There is a slight possibility of debilitating stroke. And as with any surgical procedure there are possibilities of death. Are you sure you wish to continue with the procedure?"
"Doctor," Katya said, strangely quiet. "I was raised in an orphanage in Russia with hundreds of other girls. I had nothing of my own until I was sold, straight from the orphanage, to a pimp who raped me when I was twelve. And he was not the first; I got my tits when I was eight and was raped soon after by the master of the orphanage. I have been beaten, raped, tortured and threatened with death all of my life that I can remember. I have been hungry and cold more times than I can remember. Death holds no fear for me. Nor does blindness. Or brain damage. I wish that I did not remember most of my life. And with this...devices, I will have great power. Many will wish to use me for their spy. If it works I will never be poor, or dependent upon men, again," she spat.
"Doc?" Mike said to the stone-faced physician.
"Yes?"
"Any other enhancements available?" Mike asked. "Hidden weapons? Poison fingernails? Jump jets in the feet? She'll take 'em all."
The doctor regarded him balefully for a moment and then cleared his throat.
"We're only authorized to provide the listed implants. The visual system does, however, have a bio-feedback replay system that is potentially capable of enhancing long and short distance vision. It requires practice."
"Telescope eyes, cool," Mike said, grinning. "So she can get jump-jets in her soles?"
"There are other...devices," the doctor said, shrugging. "But I'm not authorized..."
"Got an outside line?" Mike asked, seriously. "I can get them all authorized. How long would she be down?"
"How much do you want?" the physician snapped. "I can't even tell you what they all are."
"Get me an outside line," Mike said, sighing. "I'll get you the authorization."
* * *
Katya looked over the long list in wonder.
"What is 'micro-metallic skeletal enhancement'?" she asked, her eyes wide.
"You don't want that," Mike said, looking over her shoulder. "Unless there's been some radical breakthrough in nanotechnology they're sitting on, it would mean stripping off your skin and muscle to get it. On the other hand, you'd be bullet-proof, to low velocity weapons, over most of your body. Jesus Christ. There aren't many of these that are listed as actually used. But the ones that are scare the hell out of me. At least the 'sonic transceiver' is listed as 'tested, stable.' But I was
joking about the poison fingernails!"
"Where?" Katya asked.
" 'Digital extremity chemical insertion device,' " Mike said, pointing. "It looks like a pretty nasty procedure, though."
"Worse than having someone stick a scalpel up your nose?" Katya asked.
"The pouch for whatever you want to give the recipient is in the palm," Mike pointed out. "You'll go around squirting cyanide all over every time you clench your fist. Not to mention injecting yourself."
"Use something that has an antidote, then," Katya said, grinning. "Antidote on one hand, poison on the other."
"There's bound to be problems with it," Mike pointed out. "Go for the 'subcutaneous non-metallic puncture device.' Means you can carry a knife anywhere."
"I like the poison fingernails," Katya said. "I can use them on this mission!"
"I'm afraid that if you get the full upgrade, they're never going to let you out of their sight," Mike said with a sigh.
" 'Subcutaneous injection, phys...' I'm lost again."
" 'Subcu...' " Mike muttered for a second and then shook his head. "It's a combat drug. I'm not sure which one; they've been playing around with them for a long time. Probably a temporary enhancement of strength and reaction time along with calming agent so you're less scared."
"I don't get scared anymore," Katya said, darkly. "I get angry."
"Perfect for you, then," Mike said.
" 'Mas...'," Katya said, pointing to one line.
"Face job," Mike said. "Change your appearance."
"So I can look like a particular person?" Katya asked.
"You don't sing well enough to replace Jessica Simpson," Mike said, shaking his head. "It's for people that can't use their present face for whatever reason. Get a couple of the sub-cutaneous pouches. You can fit all sorts of stuff in those. And, hell, if you really want the poison fingernails..."
"Why thank you, Kildar," the girl said, smiling thinly.
"But I'm definitely getting you out of my house after this," Mike said, grinning. "And you'll need that maseo-facial surgery if you think you're going to get back in."