The Mercenary

by Jerry Pournelle

  “Sure. Not that it’s going to do any good. We’re in trouble, Colonel.”

  “Anything decided?” Falkenberg asked. “It’s been a long wait.”

  “And a useless one. They ought to invite you into the Cabinet meetings. You might have some good advice. There’s sure as hell no reason to keep you waiting in an anteroom while we yell at each other. I’ve tried to change that policy, but I’m not too popular right now.” There was another shout from the Stadium.

  “Whole government’s not too popular,” Falkenberg said. “And when that convention gets through....”

  “Another thing I tried to stop last week,” George told him. “But Budreau didn’t have the guts to stand up to them. So now we’ve got fifty thousand drifters, with nothing better to do, sitting as an assembly of the people. That ought to produce quite a constitution.”

  Falkenberg shrugged. He might have been about to say something, George thought, but if he were, he changed his mind. They reached the executive dining room and took seats near one wall. Bradford’s group had a table across the room from them, and all of Bradford’s people looked at them with suspicion.

  “You’ll get tagged as a traitor for sitting with me, Col­onel.” Hamner laughed, but his voice was serious. “I think I meant that, you know. Bradford’s blaming me for our problems with the techs, and between us he’s also insist­ing that you aren’t doing enough to restore order in the city.”

  Falkenberg ordered coffee. “Do I need to explain to you why we haven’t?”

  “No.” George Hamner’s huge hand engulfed a water glass. “God knows you’ve been given almost no support the last couple of months. Impossible orders, and you’ve never been allowed to do anything decisive. I see you’ve stopped the raids on rebel headquarters.”

  Falkenberg nodded. “We weren’t catching anyone. Too many leaks in the Palace. And most of the time the Fourth Battalion had already muddied the waters. If they’d let us do our job instead of having to ask permission through channels for every operation we undertake, maybe the enemy wouldn’t know as much about what we’re going to do. Now I’ve quit asking.”

  “You’ve done pretty well with the railroad.”

  “Yes. That’s one success, anyway. Things are pretty quiet out in the country where we’re on our own. Odd, isn’t it, that the closer we are to the expert supervision of the government, the less effective my men seem to be?”

  “But can’t you control Cordova’s men? They’re causing more people to desert us for the rebels than you can count. I can’t believe unrestrained brutality is useful.”

  “Nor I. Unless there’s a purpose to it, force isn’t a very effective instrument of government. But surely you know, Mr. Hamner, that I have no control over the Fourth. Mr. Bradford has been expanding it since he took control, and it’s now almost as large as the rest of the regiment-and totally under his control, not mine.”

  “Bradford accused me of being a traitor,” Hamner said carefully. “With his own army, he might have something planned....”

  “You once thought that of me,” Falkenberg said.

  “This is very serious,” Hamner said. “Ernie Bradford has built an army only he controls, and he’s making wild accusations.”

  Falkenberg smiled grimly. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

  “You wouldn’t? No. You wouldn’t. But I’m scared, Colonel. I’ve got my family to think of, and I’m plenty scared.” Well, George thought, now it’s out in the open; can I trust him not to be Ernie Bradford’s man?

  “You believe Bradford is planning an illegal move?” Falkenberg asked.

  “I don’t know.” Suddenly George was afraid again. He saw no sympathy in the other man’s eyes. And just who can I trust? Who? Anyone?

  “Would you feel safer if your family were in our regi­mental barracks?” Falkenberg asked. “It could be ar­ranged.”

  “It’s about time we had something out,” George said at last. “Yes, I’d feel safer with my wife and children under protection. But I’d feel safer yet if you’d level with me.”

  “About what?” Falkenberg’s expression didn’t change.

  “Those Marines of yours, to begin with,” George said. “Those aren’t penal battalion men. I’ve watched them, they’re too well disciplined. And the battle banners they carry weren’t won in any peanut actions, on this planet or anywhere else. Just who are those men, Colonel?”

  John Falkenberg smiled thinly. “I’ve been wondering when you’d ask. Why haven’t you brought this up with President Budreau?”

  “I don’t know. I think because I trust you more than Bradford, and the President would only ask him. . . besides, if the President dismissed you there’d be nobody able to oppose Ernie. If you will oppose him that is-but you can stand up to him, anyway.”

  “What makes you think I would?” Falkenberg asked. “I obey the lawful orders of the civilian government-“

  “Yeah, sure. Hadley’s going downhill so fast another conspiracy more or less can’t make any difference any­way. . . you haven’t answered my question.”

  “The battle banners are from the Forty-second CDMarine Regiment,” Falkenberg answered slowly. “It was decommissioned as part of the budget cuts.”

  “Forty-second.” Hamner thought for a second. He searched through his mental files to find the information he’d seen on Falkenberg. “That was your regiment.”

  “Certainly.”

  “You brought it with you.”

  “A battalion of it,” John Falkenberg agreed. “Their women are waiting to join them when we get settled. When the Forty-second was decommissioned, the men decided to stay together if they could.”

  “So you brought not only the officers, but the men as well.”

  “Yes.” There was still no change in Falkenberg’s ex­pression, although Hamner searched the other man’s face closely.

  George felt both fear and relief. If those were Falken­berg’s men-“What is your game, Colonel? You want more than just pay for your troops. I wonder if I shouldn’t be more afraid of you than of Bradford.”

  Falkenberg shrugged. “Decisions you have to make, Mr. Hamner. I could give you my word that we mean you no harm, but what would that be worth? I will pledge to take care of your family. If you want us to.”

  There was another shout from the Stadium, louder this time. Bradford and Lieutenant Colonel Cordova left their table, still talking in low tones. The conversation was animated, with violent gestures, as if Cordova were trying to talk Bradford into something. As they left, Bradford agreed.

  George watched them leave the room. The mob shouted again, making up his mind for him. “I’ll send Laura and the kids over to your headquarters this afternoon.”

  “Better make it immediately,” Falkenberg said calmly. George frowned. “You mean there’s not much time? Whatever you’ve got planned, it’ll have to be quick, but this afternoon?”

  John shook his head. “You seem to think I have some kind of master plan, Mr. Vice President. No. I suggest you get your wife to our barracks before I’m ordered not to undertake her protection, that’s all. For the rest, I’m only a soldier in a political situation.”

  “With Professor Whitlock to advise you,” Hamner said. He looked closely at Falkenberg.

  “Surprised you with that one, didn’t I?” Hamner de­manded. “I’ve seen Whitlock moving around and wondered why he didn’t come to the President. He must have fifty political agents in the convention right now.”

  “You do seem observant,” Falkenberg said.

  “Sure.” Hamner was bitter. “What the hell good does it do me? I don’t understand anything that’s going on, and I don’t trust anybody. I see pieces of the puzzle, but I can’t put them together. Sometimes I think I should use what influence I’ve got left to get you out of the picture anyway.”

  “As you will.” Falkenberg’s smile was coldly polite. “Whom do you suggest as guards for your family after that? The Chief of Police? Listen.”
/>   The Stadium roared again in an angry sound that swelled in volume.

  “You win.” Hamner left the table and walked slowly back to the council room. His head swirled.

  Only one thing stood out clearly. John Christian Falken­berg controlled the only military force on Hadley that could oppose Bradford’s people-and the Freedom Party gangsters, who were the original enemies in the first place. Can’t forget them just because I’m getting scared of Ernie, George thought.

  He turned away from the council room and went down­stairs to the apartment he’d been assigned. The sooner Laura was in the Marine barracks, the safer he’d feel.

  But am I sending her to my enemies? O God, can I trust anyone at all? Boris said he was an honorable man. Keep remembering that, keep remembering that. Honor. Falkenberg has honor, and Ernie Bradford has none.

  And me? What have I got for leaving the Freedom Party and bringing my technicians over to the Progressives? A meaningless title as Second Vice President, and-The crowd screamed again. “POWER TO THE PEOPLE!”

  George heard and walked faster.

  Bradford’s grin was back. It was the first thing George noticed as he came into the council chamber. The little man stood at the table with an amused smile. It seemed quite genuine, and more than a little frightening.

  “Ah, here is our noble Minister of Technology and Second Vice President,” Bradford grinned. “Just in time. Mr. President, that gang out there is threatening the city. I am sure you will all be pleased to know that I’ve taken steps to end the situation.”

  “What have you done?” George demanded.

  Bradford’s smile broadened even more. “At this moment, Colonel Cordova is arresting the leaders of the opposition. Including, Mr. President, the leaders of the Engineers’ and Technicians Association who have joined them. This rebellion will be over within the hour.”

  Hamner stared at the man. “You fool! You’ll have every technician in the city joining the Freedom Party gang! And the techs control the power plants, our last influence over the crowd. You bloody damned fool!”

  Bradford spoke with exaggerated politeness. “I thought you would be pleased, George, to see the rebellion end so easily. Naturally I’ve sent men to secure the power plants. Ah, listen.”

  The crowd outside wasn’t chanting anymore. There was a confused babble, then a welling of sound that turned ugly. No coherent words reached them, only the ugly, angry roars. Then there was a rapid fusillade of shots.

  “My God!” President Budreau stared wildly in confu­sion. “What’s happening? Who are they shooting at? Have you started open war?”

  “It takes stern measures, Mr. President,” Bradford said. “Perhaps too stern for you?” He shook his head slightly. “The time has come for harsh measures, Mr. President. Hadley cannot be governed by weak-willed men. Our future belongs to those who have the will to grasp it!”

  George Hamner turned toward the door. Before he could reach it, Bradford called to him. “Please, George.” His voice was filled with concern. “I’m afraid you can’t leave just yet. It wouldn’t be safe for you. I took the liberty of ordering Colonel Cordova’s men to, uh, guard this room while my troops restore order.”

  An uneasy quiet had settled on the Stadium, and they waited for a long time. Then there were screams and more shots.

  The sounds moved closer, as if they were outside the Stadium as well as in it. Bradford frowned, but no one said anything. They waited for what seemed a lifetime as the firing continued. Guns, shouts, screams, sirens, and alarms -those and more, all in confusion.

  The door burst open. Cordova came in. He now wore the insignia of a full colonel. He looked around the room until he found Bradford. “Sir, could you come outside a moment, please?”

  “You will make your report to the Cabinet,” President Budreau ordered. Cordova glanced at Bradford. “Now, sir.”

  Cordova still looked to Bradford. The Vice President nodded slightly.

  “Very well, sir,” the young officer said. “As directed by the Vice President, elements of the Fourth Battalion pro­ceeded to the Stadium and arrested some fifty leaders of the so-called constitutional convention.

  “Our plan was to enter quickly and take the men out through the Presidential box and into the Palace. However, when we attempted to make the arrests we were opposed by armed men, many in the uniforms of household guards. We were told there were no weapons in the Stadium, but this was in error.

  “The crowd overpowered my officers and released their prisoners. When we attempted to recover them, we were attacked by the mob and forced to fight our way out of the Stadium.”

  “Good Lord,” Budreau sighed. “How many hurt?”

  “The power plants, Did you secure them?” Hamner demanded.

  Cordova looked miserable. “No, sir. My men were not admitted. A council of technicians and engineers holds the power plants, and they threaten to destroy them if we attempt forcible entry. We have tried to seal them off from outside support, but I don’t think we can keep order with only my battalion. We will need all the constabulary army to-“

  “Idiot.” Hamner clutched at his left fist with his right, and squeezed until it hurt. A council of technicians. I’ll know most of them. My friends. Or they used to be. Will any of them trust me now? At least Bradford didn’t con­trol the fusion plants.

  “What is the current status outside?” President Budreau demanded. They could still hear firing in the streets.

  “Uh, there’s a mob barricaded in the market, and an­other in the theater across from the Palace, sir. My troops are trying to dislodge them.” Cordova’s voice was apol­ogetic.

  “Trying. I take it they aren’t likely to succeed.” Budreau rose and went to the anteroom door. “Colonel Falkenberg?” he called.

  “Yes, sir?” Falkenberg entered the room as the President beckoned.

  “Colonel, are you familiar with the situation outside?”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “Damn it, man, can you do something?”

  “What does the President suggest I do?” Falkenberg looked at the Cabinet members. “For three months we have attempted to preserve order in this city. We were not able to do so even with the cooperation of the techni­cians.”

  “It wasn’t my fault-“ Lieutenant Colonel Cordova began.

  “I did not invite you to speak.” Falkenberg’s lips were set in a grim line. “Gentlemen, you now have open rebel­lion and simultaneously have alienated one of the most powerful blocs within your Party. We no longer control either the power plants or the food processing centers. I repeat, what does the President suggest I do?”

  Budreau nodded. “A fair enough criticism.”

  He was interrupted by Bradford. “Drive that mob off the streets! Use those precious troops of yours to fight, that’s what you’re here for.”

  “Certainly,” Falkenberg said. “Will the President sign a proclamation of martial law?”

  Budreau nodded reluctantly. “I suppose I have to.”

  “Very well,” Falkenberg said.

  Hamner looked up suddenly. What had he detected in Falkenberg’s voice and manner? Something important?

  “It is standard for politicians to get themselves into a situation that only the military can get them out of. It is also standard for them to blame the military afterwards,” Falkenberg said. “I am willing to accept responsibility for enforcing martial law, but I must have command of all government forces. I will not attempt to restore order when some of the troops are not responsive to my policies.”

  “No!” Bradford leaped to his feet. The chair crashed to the floor behind him. “I see what you’re doing! You’re against me too! That’s why it was never time to move, never time for me to be President, you want control of this planet for yourself! Well, you won’t get away with it, you cheap dictator. Cordova, arrest that man!”

  Cordova licked his lips and looked at Falkenberg. Both soldiers were armed. Cordova decided not to chance it. “Lieutenan
t Hargreave!” he called. The door to the ante­room opened wider.

  No one came in. “Hargreave!” Cordova shouted again. He put his hand on the pistol holstered at his belt. “You’re under arrest, Colonel Falkenberg.”

  “Indeed?”

  “This is absurd,” Budreau shouted. “Colonel Cordova, take your hand off that weapon! I will not have my Cabinet meeting turned into a farce.”

  For a moment nothing happened. The room was very still, and Cordova looked from Budreau to Bradford, wondering what to do now.

  Then Bradford faced the President. “You too, old man? Arrest Mr. Budreau as well, Colonel Cordova. As for you, Mr. Traitor George Hamner, you’ll get what’s coming to you. I have men all through this Palace. I knew I might have to do this.”

  “You knew-what is this, Ernest?” President Budreau seemed bewildered, and his voice was plaintive. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, shut up, old man,” Bradford snarled. “I suppose you’ll have to be shot as well.”

  “I think we have heard enough,” Falkenberg said dis­tinctly. His voice rang through the room although he hadn’t shouted. “And I refuse to be arrested.”

  “Kill him!” Bradford shouted. He reached under his tunic.

  Cordova drew his pistol. It had not cleared the holster when there were shots from the doorway. Their sharp barks filled the room, and Hamner’s ears rang from the muzzle blast.

  Bradford spun toward the door with a surprised look. Then his eyes glazed and he slid to the floor, the half-smile still on his lips. There were more shots and the crash of automatic weapons, and Cordova was flung against the wall of the council chamber. He was held there by the smashing bullets. Bright red blotches spurted across his uniform.

  Sergeant Major Calvin came into the room with three Marines in battle dress, leather over bulging body armor. Their helmets were dull in the bright blue-tinted sunlight streaming through the chamber’s windows.

  Falkenberg nodded and holstered his pistol. “All secure, Sergeant Major?”