The Mercenary

by Jerry Pournelle

  “Do you have riots very often?” John asked.

  ‘Too often. There’s not much to control them with. I have three hundred men in the Presidential Guard, but they’re CD recruited and trained like young Banners. They’re not much use at riot control, and they’re loyal to the job, not to me anyway. The FP’s got men inside the guard.”

  “So we can scratch the President’s Guard when it comes to controlling the Freedom Party,” John observed.

  “Yes.” Budreau smiled without amusement. “Then there’s my police force. My police were all commanded by CD officers who are pulling out. My administrative staff was recruited and trained by BuRelock, and all the com­petent people have been recalled to Earth.”

  “I can see that would create a problem.”

  “Problem? It’s impossible,” Budreau said. “There’s no­body left with skill enough to govern, but I’ve got the job and everybody else wants it. I might be able to scrape up a thousand Progressive partisans and another fifteen thou­sand party workers who would fight for us in a pinch, but they have no training. How can they face the FP’s forty thousand?”

  ‘You seriously believe the Freedom Party will revolt?”

  “As soon as the CD’s out, you can count on it. They’ve demanded a new constitutional convention to assemble just after the CoDominium Governor leaves. If we don’t give them the convention they’ll rebel and carry a lot of un­decided with them. After all, what’s unreasonable about a convention when the colonial governor has gone?”

  “I see.”

  “And if we do give them the convention they want, they’ll drag things out until there’s nobody left in it but their people. My Party is composed of working voters. How can they stay on day after day? The FP’s unemployed will sit it out until they can throw the Progressives out of office. Once they get in they’ll ruin the planet. Under the circumstances I don’t see what a military man can do for us, but Vice President Bradford insisted that we hire you.”

  “Perhaps we can think of something,” Falkenberg said smoothly. “I’ve no experience in administration as such, but Hadley is not unique. I take it the Progressive Party is mostly old settlers?”

  “Yes and no. The Progressive Party wants to indus­trialize Hadley, and some of our farm families oppose that. But we want to do it slowly. We’ll close most of the mines and take out only as much thorium as we have to sell to get the basic industrial equipment. I want to keep the rest for our own fusion generators, because we’ll need it later.

  “We want to develop agriculture and transport, and cut the basic citizen ration so that we’ll have the fusion power available for our new industries. I want to close out con­venience and consumer manufacturing and keep it closed until we can afford it.” Budreau’s voice rose and his eyes shone; it was easier to see why he had become popular. He believed in his cause.

  “We want to build the tools of a self-sustaining world and get along without the CoDominium until we can rejoin the human race as equals!” Budreau caught himself and frowned. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make a speech. Have a seat, won’t you?”

  “Thank you.” Falkenberg sat in a heavy leather chair and looked around the room. The furnishings were ornate, and the office decor had cost a fortune to bring from Earth; but most of it was tasteless-spectacular rather than elegant. The Colonial Office did that sort of thing a lot, and Falkenberg wondered which Grand Senator owned the firm that supplied office furnishings. “What does the opposition want?”

  “I suppose you really do need to know all this.” Budreau frowned and his mustache twitched nervously. He made an effort to relax, and John thought the President had probably been an impressive man once. “The Freedom Party’s slogan is ‘Service to the People.’ Service to them means consumer goods now. They want strip mining. That’s got the miners’ support, you can bet. The FP will rape this planet to buy goods from other systems, and to hell with how they’re paid for. Runaway inflation will be only one of the problems they’ll create.”

  “They sound ambitious.”

  “Yes. They even want to introduce internal combustion engine economy. God knows how, there’s no support technology here, but there’s oil. We’d have to buy all that from off planet, there’s no heavy industry here to make engines even if the ecology could absorb them, but that doesn’t matter to the FP. They promise cars for everyone. Instant modernization. More food, robotic factories, en­tertainment, in short, paradise and right now.”

  “Do they mean it, or is that just slogans?”

  “I think most of them mean it,” Budreau answered. “It’s hard to believe, but I think they do.”

  “Where do they say they’ll get the money?”

  “Soaking the rich, as if there were enough wealthy people here to matter. Total confiscation of everything everyone owns wouldn’t pay for all they promise. Those people have no idea of the realities of our situation, and their leaders are ready to blame anything that’s wrong on the Progressive Party, CoDominium administrators, anything but admit that what they promise just isn’t possible. Some of the Party leaders may know better, but they don’t admit it if they do.”

  “I take it that program has gathered support.”

  “Of course it has,” Budreau fumed. “And every BuRelock ship brings thousands more ready to vote the FP line.”

  Budreau got up from his desk and went to a cabinet on the opposite wall. He took out a bottle of brandy and three glasses and poured, handing them to Calvin and Falkenberg. Then he ignored the sergeant but waited for Falkenberg to lift his glass.

  “Cheers.” Budreau drained the glass at one gulp. “Some of the oldest families on Hadley have joined the damned Freedom Party. They’re worried about the taxes I’ve proposed! The FP won’t leave them anything at all, but they still join the opposition in hopes of making deals. You don’t look surprised.”

  “No, sir. It’s a story as old as history, and a military man reads history.”

  Budreau looked up in surprise. “Really?”

  “A smart soldier wants to know the causes of wars. Also how to end them. After all, war is the normal state of affairs, isn’t it? Peace is the name of the ideal we deduce from the fact that there have been interludes between wars.” Before Budreau could answer, Falkenberg said, “No mat­ter. I take it you expect armed resistance immediately after the CD pulls out.”

  “I hoped to prevent it. Bradford thought you might be able to do something, and I’m gifted at the art of persua­sion.” The President sighed. “But it seems hopeless. They don’t want to compromise. They think they can get a total victory.”

  “I wouldn’t think they’d have much of a record to run on,” Falkenberg said.

  Budreau laughed. “The FP partisans claim credit for driving the CoDominium out, Colonel.”

  They laughed together. The CoDominium was leaving because the mines were no longer worth enough to make it pay to govern Hadley. If the mines were as productive as they’d been in the past, no partisans would drive the Marines away.

  Budreau nodded as if reading his thoughts. “Well, they have people believing it anyway. There was a campaign of terrorism for years, nothing very serious. It didn’t threaten the mine shipments, or the Marines would have put a stop to it. But they have demoralized the capital police. Out in the bush people administer their own justice, but here in Refuge the FP gangs control a lot of the city.”

  Budreau pointed to a stack of papers on one corner of the desk. “Those are resignations from the force. I don’t even know how many police I’ll have left when the CD pulls out.” Budreau’s fist tightened as if he wanted to pound on the desk, but he sat rigidly still. “Pulls out. For years they ran everything, and now they’re leaving us to clean up. I’m President by courtesy of the CoDominium. They put me in office, and now they’re leaving.”

  “At least you’re in charge,” Falkenberg said. “The BuRelock people wanted someone else. Bradford talked them out of it.”

  “Sure. And it cost us a lot of mo
ney. For what? Maybe it would have been better the other way.”

  “I thought you said their policies would ruin Hadley.”

  “I did say that. I believe it. But the policy issues came after the split, I think.”

  Budreau was talking to himself as much as to John. “Now they hate us so much they oppose anything we want out of pure spite. And we do the same thing.”

  “Sounds like CoDominium politics. Russkis and US in the Grand Senate. Just like home.” There was no humor in the polite laugh that followed.

  Budreau opened a desk drawer and took out a parch­ment. “I’ll keep the agreement, of course. Here’s your commission as commander of the constabulary. But I still think you might be better off taking the next ship out. Hadley’s problems can’t be solved by military consultants.”

  Sergeant Major Calvin snorted. The sound was almost inaudible, but Falkenberg knew what he was thinking. Budreau shrank from the bald term “mercenary,” as if “military consultant” were easier on his conscience. John finished his drink and stood.

  “Mr. Bradford wants to see you,” Budreau said. “Lieu­tenant Banners will be outside to show you to his office.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Falkenberg strode from the big room. As he closed the door he saw Budreau going back to the liquor cabinet.

  Vice President Ernest Bradford was a small man with a smile that never seemed to fade. He worked at being liked, but it didn’t always work. Still, he had gathered a following of dedicated party workers, and he fancied himself an accomplished politician.

  When Banners showed Falkenberg into the office, Brad­ford smiled even more broadly, but he suggested that Banners should take Calvin on a tour of the Palace guard­rooms. Falkenberg nodded and let them go.

  The Vice President’s office was starkly functional. The desks and chairs were made of local woods with an in­different finish, and a solitary rose in a crystal vase pro­vided the only color. Bradford was dressed in the same manner, shapeless clothing bought from a cheap store.

  “Thank God you’re here,” Bradford said when the door was closed. “But I’m told you only brought ten men. We can’t do anything with just ten men! You were supposed to bring over a hundred men loyal to us!” He bounced up excitedly from his chair, then sat again. “Can you do something?”

  “There were ten men in the Navy ship with me,” Falkenberg said. “When you show me where I’m to train the regiment I’ll find the rest of the mercenaries.”

  Bradford gave him a broad wink and beamed. “Then you did bring more! We’ll show them-all of them. We’ll win yet. What did you think of Budreau?”

  “He seems sincere enough. Worried, of course. I think I would be in his place.”

  Bradford shook his head. “He can’t make up his mind. About anything! He wasn’t so bad before, but lately he’s had to be forced into making every decision. Why did the Colonial Office pick him? I thought you were going to arrange for me to be President. We gave you enough money.”

  “One thing at a time,” Falkenberg said. “The Under­secretary couldn’t justify you to the Minister. We can’t get to everyone, you know. It was hard enough for Profes­sor Whitlock to get them to approve Budreau, let alone you. We sweated blood just getting them to let go of having a Freedom Party President.”

  Bradford’s head bobbed up and down like a puppet’s. “I knew I could trust you,” he said. His smile was warm, but despite all his efforts to be sincere it did not come through. “You have kept your part of the bargain, anyway. And once the CD is gone-“

  “We’ll have a free hand, of course.”

  Bradford smiled again. “You are a very strange man, Colonel Falkenberg. The talk was that you were utterly loyal to the CoDominium. When Dr. Whitlock suggested that you might be available I was astounded.”

  “I had very little choice,” Falkenberg reminded him.

  “Yes.” Bradford didn’t say that Falkenberg had little more now, but it was obvious that he thought it. His smile expanded confidentially. “Well, we have to let Mr. Hamner meet you now. He’s the Second Vice President. Then we can go to the Warner estate. I’ve arranged for your troops to be quartered there, it’s what you wanted for a training ground. No one will bother you. You can say your other men are local volunteers.”

  Falkenberg nodded. “I’ll manage. I’m getting rather good at cover stories lately.”

  “Sure,” Bradford beamed again.. “By God, we’ll win this yet.” He touched a button on his desk. “Ask Mr. Hamner to come in, please.” He winked at Falkenberg and said, “Can’t spend too long alone. Might give someone the idea that we have a conspiracy.”

  “How does Hamner fit in?” Falkenberg asked,

  “Wait until you see him. Budreau trusts him, and he’s dangerous. He represents the technology people in the Progressive Party. We can’t do without him, but his poli­cies are ridiculous. He wants to turn loose of everything. If he has his way, there won’t be any government. And his people take credit for everything-as if technology was all there was to government. He doesn’t know the first thing about governing. All the people we have to keep happy, the meetings, he thinks that’s all silly, that you can build a party by working like an engineer.”

  “In other words, he doesn’t understand the political realities,” Falkenberg said.

  “Just so. I suppose he has to go, then.”

  Bradford nodded, smiling again. “Eventually. But we do need his influence with the technicians at the moment. And of course, he knows nothing about any arrangements you and I have made.”

  “Of course.” Falkenberg sat easily and studied maps until the intercom announced that Hamner was outside. He wondered idly if the office were safe to talk in. Brad­ford was the most likely man to plant devices in other people’s offices, but he couldn’t be the only one who’d benefit from eavesdropping, and no place could be ab­solutely safe.

  There isn’t much I can do if it is, Falkenberg decided. And it’s probably clean.

  George Hamner was a large man, taller than Falkenberg and even heavier than Sergeant Major Calvin. He had the relaxed movements of a big man, and much of the easy confidence that massive size usually wins. People didn’t pick fights with George Hamner. His grip was gentle when they shook hands, but he closed his fist relentlessly, testing Falkenberg carefully. As he felt answering pres­sure he looked surprised, and the two men stood in silence for a long moment before Hamner relaxed and waved to Bradford.

  “So you’re our new colonel of constabulary,” Hamner said. “Hope you know what you’re getting into. I should say I hope you don’t know. If you know about our prob­lems and take the job anyway, we’ll have to wonder if you’re sane.”

  “I keep hearing about how severe Hadley’s problems are,” Falkenberg said. “If enough of you keep saying it, maybe I’ll believe it’s hopeless, but right now I don’t see it. So we’re outnumbered by the Freedom Party people. What kind of weapons do they have to make trouble with?”

  Hamner laughed. “Direct sort of guy, aren’t you? I like that. There’s nothing spectacular about their weapons, just a lot of them. Enough small problems make a big problem, right? But the CD hasn’t permitted any big stuff. No tanks or armored cars, hell, there aren’t enough cars of any kind to make any difference. No fuel or power distribution net ever built, so no way cars would be use­ful. We’ve got a subway, couple of monorails for in-city stuff, and what’s left of the railroad . . . you didn’t ask for a lecture on transportation, did you.”

  “No.”

  Hamner laughed. “It’s my pet worry at the moment. We don’t have enough. Let’s see, weapons. . . .” The big man sprawled into a chair. He hooked one leg over the arm and ran his fingers through thick hair just receding from his large brows. “No military aircraft, hardly any aircraft at all except for a few choppers. No artillery, machine guns, heavy weapons in general. Mostly light-caliber hunting rifles and shotguns. Some police weapons. Military rifles and bayonets, a few, and we have almost all of them. Out in t
he streets you can find anything Colonel, and I mean literally anything. Bows and arrows, knives, swords, axes, hammers, you name it.”

  “He doesn’t need to know about obsolete things like that,” Bradford said. His voice was heavy with contempt, but he still wore his smile.

  “No weapon is ever really obsolete,” Falkenberg said. “Not in the hands of a man who’ll use it. What about body armor? How good a supply of Nemourlon do you have?”

  Hamner looked thoughtful for a second. “There’s some body armor in the streets, and the police have some. The President’s Guard doesn’t use the stuff. I can supply you with Nemourlon, but you’ll have to make your own armor out of it. Can you do that?”

  Falkenberg nodded. “Yes. I brought an excellent technician and some tools. Gentlemen, the situation’s about what I expected. I can’t see why everyone is so worried. We have a battalion of CD Marines, not the best Marines perhaps, but they’re trained soldiers. With the weapons of a light infantry battalion and the training I can give the recruits we’ll add to the battalion, I’ll undertake to face your forty thousand Freedom Party people. The guerrilla problem will be somewhat more severe, but we control all the food distribution in the city. With ration cards and identity papers it should not be difficult to set up con­trols.”

  Hamner laughed. It was a bitter laugh. “You want to tell him, Ernie?”

  Bradford looked confused. “Tell him what?” Hamner laughed again.

  “Not doing your homework. It’s in the morning report for a couple of days ago. The Colonial Office has decided, on the advice of BuRelock, that Hadley does not need any military weapons. The CD Marines will be lucky to keep their rifles and bayonets. All the rest of their gear goes out with the CD ships.”

  “But this is insane,” Bradford protested. He turned to Falkenberg. “Why would they do that?”

  Falkenberg shrugged. “Perhaps some Freedom Party manager got to a Colonial Office official. I assume they are not above bribery?”