Star Risk - 03 The Doublecross Program (20 page)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THIRTY-FOUR � ^ � Star Risk was staring at a large projection screen showing a pirated �cast of the ruined Shaoki Council Hall. A propagandist raved mutedly about atrocities and such.

Star Risk and its people were now housed in a brand-new barracks instead of a luxury hotel, on Khelat II, which was just fine with them.

Hotels are impossible to secure.

Goodnight was seemingly hypnotized by the results of his and Grok's handiwork.

"What's the old phrase?" he said. "Hoist by their own� what is it? Dildo? That doesn't make much sense."

"The word you're looking for," a voice behind them said, "is petard. Like in fuse."

Goodnight spun.

"Jasmine!"

King ankled into the room.

"Any calls while I was out?"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THIRTY-FIVE � ^ � Friedrich summoned an aide, told her to get the best Methuselah of champagne in the Khelat worlds, and damn the expense.

"Come to think about it, make it a case," he ordered. "Tell anybody who coms us that we are in conference for the rest of the day."

It was Jasmine's turn to tell the war story.

She did, from the crash to her purchasing into a pharmacy to her discovery she sort of liked blowing things up.

"The only one that made me feel a little bad," she said, "was the one I needed at the end of the J. I had to blow up somebody's house. But at least he was related by marriage to the Khelat royalty, so I didn't feel too bad."

The champagne arrived and was poured.

"I knew you'd see the explosions and come back for me," King said.

"You have more faith in me than I have in me," Goodnight said.

"To slightly change the subject," Riss said. "And catching all of you at this emotion-drenched moment. Do you realize that we've never officially made our Jasmine a full partner?"

"Surely we did," Friedrich said, then thought. "No, we did not. I'm sorry, Jasmine. I formally propose, et cetera, et cetera."

"I fervently second the motion," Grok rumbled. "I think that's how it's supposed to be said."

"Are you sure," Goodnight asked, "you really want to be a partner with these degenerates? I mean, you've already been getting your twenty percent, and all a partnership is gonna get you is a fair share of the bills."

Jasmine nodded.

"Moved, seconded, and�" Riss looked around, saw hands�and a paw�lifted. "�Passed by acclamation."

M'chel kissed Jasmine, who sat, happily drinking champagne, oblivious to the tears runnelling down her face.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THIRTY-SIX � ^ � It was late� or, rather, early, but no one felt like going to bed, eating, or much of anything except more champagne and idle talk.

Jasmine was curled up next to Grok, who had one enormous paw around her.

M'chel wondered about the possibilities, might have had enough to drink to ask them, but suddenly and fortunately another thought came.

"You know what we're short of," she said, making sure she wasn't slurring her words.

"Inherited riches," Goodnight said.

"No," Riss said. "Well, yes. But more immediately, and I mean no offense, Freddie, but our fort�o far hasn't been strategy. We're nibbling here and there, but what are we after?"

"More riches," Goodnight said.

"Shaddup, Chas," Riss said.

Von Baldur upended a bottle, tossed it carefully into the half-f trashcan, took another from an ice bucket, and started unwiring the cork.

"I take no offense," von Baldur said, appearing quite sober. "M'chel is correct. This is easily the biggest job Star Risk has taken on. We should have some sort of a master plan."

He shoved with both his thumbs, and the cork arced out of the bottle, ricocheted off a portrait of King Saleph, and away.

"Ask the wizard," Jasmine said, nodding at Goodnight.

"An idea," M'chel said. "Charles, let's hear a battle analysis. Go bester."

Obediently, Goodnight touched his cheek. His body started slightly. He sat, silent, for a couple of minutes, then he spoke, his voice metallic, as if synthesized.

"Since we've now sold both sides down the river, we should concentrate on winning this war as soon as possible. The longer things drag on, the more likely the chances will be that the Khelat will get tired of us, too, and try what the Shaoki did. One assassination plot per contract should be enough for us� unless we're mounting those plots.

"The most immediate thing that we should do is abandon this policy of being advisors and teachers. I think we should do more of the fighting ourselves, or at any rate by our direct hirelings, if we want to finish up this contract in an expected lifetime."

"Which means we need reinforcements," Grok said. "We are thin on the ground to be playing soldier."

"Already considered," Friedrich said. "I plan on contacting a man who we owe a favor to, on Seth V, immediately."

Goodnight nodded.

"Freddie, you'll be the grand strategist," Goodnight said. "Riss can implement his schemes."

"And Jasmine�"

"Jasmine will hold down the fort and run the center of things," King said firmly. "I've had enough adventure for a time."

"Finally, we should keep a back door open, in case the Khelat move faster than we do. Also, we have to do something to improve the main shipments, if we're to have Omni Foods making us rich and infamous.

"And since things are still pretty vague, that's about all I can suggest."

Goodnight touched his cheek, came out of bester.

"If I am to play admiral," Friedrich said, "I shall need a proper toy."

"Such as?" Riss asked, a bit suspiciously.

"A battleship," von Baldur said, a bit dreamily. "I have always wanted a battleship of my own."

"That will set easily with our Khelat masters," Riss said sarcastically.

"Not a very big battleship," Friedrich said, sounding a little injured.

"Well," M'chel said. "Since I've been acting paymaster while Jasmine was out playing, I guess we can afford a battleship. Or rather, the Khelat can. Get one now, while the Khelat are still feeling generous. A small battleship.

"By the way, Chas. You didn't say what you were going to do."

"All I know is a phrase came to me, just as I was coming out of bester," Goodnight said. " �Singe the king's beard,' was all it was. I dunno what the hell it meant."

"I do," Grok said.

"Ah, the wonders of the subconscious. Come with me, my friend, and explain," Goodnight said, getting to his feet. "I need to rebuild my energy with a whoppin' great chunk of protein. Bloody protein. Plus, the booze sort of got burned up, and I'm sober now, and there's no bigger pain in the ass than being around a bunch of drunks."

But he staggered slightly as he got up.

"So we have a plan of sorts," Riss said.

"Of sorts," Grok agreed. "But we still don't have any sort of endgame."

"I suppose that will entirely depend on how things go, won't it?" Goodnight said.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THIRTY-SEVEN � ^ � Friedrich von Baldur was very grateful there was a screen and light years between himself and Hal Maffer on Seth V. Otherwise, he might have been kissed.

"M'god," Maffer whispered. "This is the biggest order�Would you mind going through it again, uh, General?"

"First," Friedrich started, "we shall need eighteen battalions of infantry. We do not have time to train, so we shall want full units, with leaders, logistic trains, whatever.

"We are willing to pay the going rate, with a fulfillment bonus when, that is when, not if, we win.

"There is only a medium hurry for these units, since they will be used as fortress troops, one per Khelat System. They don't have to be elite, or commando qualified. We'll be content with competent infantrymen.

"Oh yes," he went on, remembering the mercenary units who'd been in place when Star Risk arrived. "We do not want any units or personnel who have been assigned here before."

Friedrich didn't mention that Goodnight wanted two shock battalions, since he'd told Freddie he'd recruit those personally, closer in toward the Alliance Worlds.

Goodnight was also prepared to pay top dollar.

No one in Star Risk had the slightest interest in going light on the budget. The Khelat were not their friends.

"A force that big will certainly need a significant payroll and supply section," Maffer said, not quite licking his lips.

"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�"