"And I bet the raider just stood there while you did that," Sven said. He wasn't smiling now. Grace shook her head.

"That drill press," he said, pointing to a machine on its side, "will need work but it'll drill out face and b.u.t.t plates that'll keep Gatling guns sighted in from now till doomsday."

Grace studied the man in front of her, walking through what seemed to her was junk and tossing off opportunities like sparks came off a mining drill. She'd come to Galatea thinking she needed MechWarriors. Thank G.o.d she'd found a warrior who knew how much she needed a mechanical genius.

"Thought I'd find you here," someone said, accompanied by a soft hum. Grace turned to see a huge belly with a man attached driving up in a small electric cart. Abe Goldman was right beside him, a large strongbox clutched in his lap. Mr. Belly must be Ally, the owner of the Not So Good stuff she wanted to buy.

"Hi, Abe," Grace shouted, then put on her best mayoral face and said, "And you must be the famous Mr. Portencallens."

"Ally," Belly said, extending a hand and a smile that had enough oil in to match half of Alkalurops' annual production. "I understand you're in the market for some 'Mechs. Why'd you let this old b.u.m"-he waved at Sven-"bring you out here. The good stuff's in front or in my new showroom. Why swelter out here when we can go inside, stay cool, and buy the latest model?"

"I don't think I brought quite that much cash," Grace said with as much sorrow as she could dredge up for the occasion.

"We do have some fine used 'Mechs. Repair work guaranteed for eighteen thousand kilometers or their first major fight, whichever comes first." Ally's smile got even broader.

Grace wondered how the guarantee defined "major" and decided she really didn't need to know. She also noted the way Ally had deftly offered her the more expensive side of his business without denigrating the junk pile here. Tough bargaining ahead.

"What I was really checking out was your obsolete servicing jigs. Sven here thought they might have a few more hours in them. Not much, maybe just enough to make them worth shipping back to Alkalurops to see if they were what we needed."

"These are not obsolete," Ally said, and almost looked like he might come out of his cart. "We've expanded our service options for BattleMechs, things being what they are. I've already placed an order to expand my service bays so we can get back to meeting our customers' needs for IndustrialMech maintenance. In a couple of weeks-a month at most-we'll be cleaning up this, ah, stuff and putting it back under cover."

"Looks to me like it's been out here for quite a while," Grace said, kicking gently at the drill press where it lay in dried mud. "When was the last time it rained in Galaport?"

"Six months ago or more," Abe said under his breath.

"I'll have to get on my foreman. I had no idea he was treating the temporarily out-of-use equipment so poorly."

"Ahem," Abe said, opening the strongbox in his lap and retrieving one of the gaudier African works in gold and diamonds. Ally took it in with a glance, then betrayed himself by letting his eyes go back for a second look. As he reached out to finger the gold and jewels, his eyes widened even more.

"Hand-worked," Abe said. "Want to feel the heft of this necklace?"

"If you don't mind my looking at your bauble. I didn't know you handled costume jewelry," Ally said.

There was a noticeable sag as his hands took in the full weight of it.

Jobe stepped forward. "I dug the diamonds from the earth. My nephew panned the gold. My first wife cut the diamonds, poured the molten gold into a unique mold of her design, and hammered the diamonds into place to finish it. You will not find a finer piece of gold jewelry within the human sphere."

"So you say, but I might want to have it appraised myself."

Abe produced his 'puter, snapped a picture of the glistening necklace, and asked, "Who do you want to do the second appraisal?"

"Let me see yours," Ally said, and whistled when Abe handed him a sheet of paper. "I should have my security man throw you off my lot. I don't let thieves in here."

"Pay a stone less and you're the thief."

And so started the haggling. It went on for hours as Sven and the MechWarriors dusted off items, prepared them for shipment and loaded them on a hauler. Ally ignored them, except to reject the drill press. "That's gonna be needed here real soon. Steal it from somebody else, Sven." Sven pouted, but grinned at Grace when Ally wasn't looking.

"Had to include something he could yank. No worry, if you can't find a spare press in Allabad, I'm sure I can steal one."

Abe had surrendered about half of their stash by the time the negotiators were exhausted. That was when Sven turned to Ally and said, "We will need a few items out of your used-parts bin." That took them inside as Sven dug through the back nooks of the parts room, bringing out three targeting computers, several targeting-acquisition systems, two very old but usable sets of electronic counter-measures gear, and a dusty tool box Sven said might be usable to upgrade Indi helmets to something close to modern neurohelmet levels.

Ally looked at the stack, eyed the rest of the jewelry, and called for coffee. Abe asked for a bathroom break. The two hagglers went their separate ways, with promises to resume momentarily. Ben ordered a flatbed truck to haul what they'd scrounged out to the port, and Grace bought tickets on the next ship out.

Abe came back, but Ally was nowhere in sight. "He must have a lot of daughters. His wife can't wear all that," Grace said.

"He has a lot ofmistresses, " Abe said. "His poor wife will be doing well to get a pair of earrings out of this."

"You didn't bring the Navajo jewelry?"

"It's silver; he'd dismiss it in a moment," Abe explained. "Do you have enough for tickets? Your group seems to have grown."

"I was about to ask you if you could help with that. I have some more diamonds I held back," Grace said.

"There are three of us who will take about half the silver and some of the less flashy gold pieces. Do you want me to return the rest to you?"

"Would you be willing to serve as our agent and sell items here?" Grace asked. "None of the mercs have asked about their pay, but I'm sure I'll need cash on Galatea for that."

"I will, gladly," Abe said, offering his hand. They shook. "Now, Ally is back, and I do not think I should have let him get away." They had two hours to make the DropShip when the bargaining ended. Abe offered his car. From just three, Grace's group had grown to include Ben and Danny, Victoria and Sean, and George and Sven.

"I would have liked a few more. The infantry slot is still open," Ben said as they dismounted at the cargo terminal.

"You have room for one more?" Betsy Ross asked, sauntering over from where she'd been leaning against theARRIVALS sign. "I don't have anything going, and this place is getting boring."

"I doubt Alkalurops will be boring," Danny offered.

"Could be just garrison duty," Victoria said. "Long hours of tedium interrupted by explaining to civilians who don't know a thing about our work why they should pay us for doing nothing productive," she said, eyeing Grace.

"If it comes down to that, I could sure use you working my mines. I have three of them that I haven't been able to open for lack of 'Mechs." She smiled wickedly, and Danny groaned. "But we do have good whiskey up the Gleann Mor Valley."

"Maybe driving a MiningMech would be tolerable under those circ.u.mstances," the Highlander muttered.

Poor Sean looked ready to burst out crying. "I'd really like to face one b-battle in my life."

"You will, boy," Victoria promised.

LoaderMechs sent their cargo off to theGood Sense to Stay Home III, leaving Grace with a bigger bill than she'd been told. Taxes had not been mentioned when she'd asked the cost before. Abe presented his smart card to cover the balance.

As they turned to the pa.s.senger lounge, a car disgorged a red-suited figure. The click of heels came quickly, as did her perfume that managed to overpower the smell of ozone and diesel. "What have we here?" Betsy asked. "Date not so hot, Syn?"

"Date was plenty hot. He didn't tell me his wife was combat-trained. She showed up halfway through drinks and wanted to know who I was. I excused myself to the ladies' room while he explained. He was on the floor with her standing over him when I got out, so I decided maybe I could use a job off-planet for a while. Ben, you still have an opening?"

"Grace, can you spring for one more ticket?" Abe said.

The eleven of them boarded a mere five minutes before the ship locked down for launch.

"Colonel wants to see you," is not the best way for a Major to start his day. L. J. knew there were worse things, and a morning visit with the Colonel need not be viewed as a challenge. It could be an opportunity. Their last meeting had been to pin on his Major's insignia. The one before that ended with orders to develop operating procedures for a raiding strategy. "An old military practice," the Colonel a.s.sured him, "that though somewhat unused of late, is sanctioned by long years of use on ancient Terra."

Had there been a smile behind that?

L. J. paused before knocking on the Colonel's office door to clear his mind of the thought that kept running through his head, like what had he been doing, working for a cold-blooded killer? Face set, L. J.

knocked.

"Enter," he heard immediately.

Colonel Ludwig Hanson V sat squarely behind his desk, looking as determined as the portrait of their grandfather behind him. His commitment to their grandfather's glower often made it hard to figure out exactly what he intended. Beside him, Major Keith Thomas, the legal officer, stood at parade rest, imitating his own regimental ancestor's portrait hanging in the hall. His staff officer's paunch made the image harder to carry off. Cousin Amadeus Hanson, the regiment's Chief Accounts Manager, and committed civilian as his loud vest emphasized, lounged lazily in a chair across from the Colonel as L. J.

reported.

Without preamble, the Colonel said, "You recall a few days ago when we talked about that potential client from Alkalurops that I mentioned an option clause in your earlier contract."

"Yes, sir," L. J. said, remaining at stiff attention.

"It seems your earlier client has contacted us about activating that option. Were you aware of a pair of murders that occurred around the time of your raid?"

"I believe the planetary Governor and Legate were murdered just before we landed."

"Yes," the Colonel said, turning to Major Thomas. "I asked our legal staff to examine our duty in such circ.u.mstances. Unfortunately, he finds no governing legal precedent. Amadeus a.s.sures me it has no impact on our contractual obligations."

"I wonder what a first-year-cadet Honor Court might say," L. J. risked. Legal and contractual finagling must have some honor.

The Colonel glowered at L. J. in step with the portrait behind him. "I had similar thoughts. Sadly, my duty to the regiment goes beyond what one dreams about in school. We have a contract, and our client has asked for the full six-month extension."

"Six months, sir? The raid took barely three months, even with that long drop interval," L. J. said, allowing a frown on his face for the Colonel to see.

"Yes, initially I found that interesting as well."

"Is it another raiding contract?"

"No, Loren. We just received the full contract language, and this time he wants you to seize and hold."

"The contract allows for that change of scope?"

Now cousin Amadeus had the good grace to fidget. "It seems that sections of the fine print are new language," the Colonel said with a scowl directed at the civilian.

"New language is popping up in all the contracts," Amadeus complained. " 'Conditions beyond the client's control,' 'rising emergencies,' 'acts of G.o.d,' no less. Until court rulings define this new language, we can't be sure what it means."

"Then take it to court and find out what it means," L. J. suggested, "what with two murders out there."

"This language is so vague as to allow any interpretation." Major Thomas gave Amadeus a glare with more wattage than most battlefield lasers. "I discussed these clauses with the legal staffs at several other regiments. They don't want us taking into court language so vague it clearly favors the client. Sorry, Loren, you just have to suck it up."

L. J. relaxed his stance and considered the situation. Whoever the client was, he was capable of cold-blooded murder. L. J. didn't much care for sharing a planet with him for six months. Then again, he had not met the client during the last contract. With luck, he wouldn't for the next six months. But the regiment owed him.

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 a.s.sistant is no help at all. He says I must accept the c.r.a.p-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-Cla.s.s Accommodations DropShipGood 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 c.o.c.kpit. 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 h.e.l.l 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.