But, of course, the really big item wouldn’t arrive until next week, Osterwelt reminded himself, and his smile—if he’d permitted himself to wear one—would have been most unpleasant at the thought. Matucek could hardly stand the wait for the Golem-IIIs which would be the crown jewels of his new, rejuvenated brigade. But, then, he had no idea what else those Golems would be. Osterwelt and GalCorp’s techs had gone to considerable lengths to make sure he never would know, either—right up to the moment the carefully hidden files buried in their backup maintenance computers activated and blew them and anyone aboard their transports with them into an expanding cloud of gas.
Osterwelt watched the last few Panthers grumble past him and allowed himself a moment of self-congratulation. The Golems would be carried aboard the Fafnirs, which would neatly dispose of that portion of Matucek’s small fleet when GalCorp no longer needed it. The mother ship’s demise would be seen to by the files hidden in the air-cav maintenance module. The stingers’ small onboard fusion plants would lack the brute destructive power of the Golems’ suicide charges, but when they all blew simultaneously they would more than suffice to destroy the big ship’s structural integrity somewhere in the trackless depths of hyper-space. That would be enough to guarantee that there wouldn’t even be any wreckage . . . much less annoying witnesses who might turn state’s evidence if the Concordiat ever identified Matucek’s Marauders as the “pirates” about to raid Santa Cruz.
The final Panther clanked by, and he and Matucek turned to follow along behind it. It was a pity, in some ways, that the Marauders had to go. No one would particularly miss the human flotsam which filled the brigade’s ranks, but writing off this much perfectly good hardware would make a hole even in GalCorp’s quarterly cash flow. Still, the Golems themselves had cost practically nothing, given the Freighnar government’s desperate need for maintenance support, and the raid would probably depress real estate prices on Santa Cruz sufficiently to let GalCorp recoup most of its investment in the other equipment. Not to mention the fact that there would no longer be any need to pay Matucek the sizable fee upon which they’d agreed. And as a useful side benefit, GalCorp would have its hooks well into the Freighnars, as well. Once the Concordiat discovered the People’s Government had disposed of Golems to a mercenary outfit of dubious reputation, it would become not merely largely but totally dependent upon GalCorp’s technical support. It was inevitable, since the Concordiat would, as surely as hydrogen and oxygen combined to form water, cut off all foreign aid.
It was always so nice when loose ends could not only be tied up but made to yield still more advantage in the process. No one outside GalCorp’s innermost circle of board members could ever be allowed even to suspect that this operation had taken place, but the men and women who mattered would know. Just as they would know it was Gerald Osterwelt who’d engineered it so smoothly. When the time finally came for his mother to step down, the board would remember who’d given it Santa Cruz on a platter, and his eyes gleamed at the endless vista of power opening wide before him.
* * *
“All right.” Li-Chen Matucek leaned back at the head of the briefing room table and nursed a theatrically battered cup of coffee as he looked around his assembled staff officers and regimental and battalion commanders. “I take it you’ve all completed your inventories and inspections?” Heads nodded. “May I also take it you’re pleased with your new equipment?” More nods replied, much more enthusiastically, and he grinned. “Good! Because now it’s time to begin planning just how we’re going to use that equipment against our objective.”
One or two faces looked a little grim at the prospect of slaughtering unsuspecting Concordiat civilians, yet no one even considered protesting. Not only would second thoughts have been risky, but none of these men or women were the sort to suffer qualms of conscience. Matucek’s Marauders had once included officers who would have protested; by now, all of them were safely dead or long since departed to other, more principled outfits.
Osterwelt sat at Matucek’s right elbow, surveying the other officers, and was pleased by what he saw, though he was a bit disappointed that none of them seemed the least disturbed that he was present. He’d put together a lovely secondary cover to “let slip” that his present appearance was the result of a temporary biosculpt job if anyone asked, but no one had so much as questioned his “Scully” pseudonym. No doubt most of them suspected it was an assumed name, yet they didn’t seem to care. In fact, none of the idiots even seemed aware that he ought to conceal his true identity from them! It was just as well, since it also kept them from wondering if he’d decided to dispose of them all in order to protect himself, yet their total, casual acceptance of his presence was an unflattering indication of their intelligence. It was to be hoped they were better killers than plotters.
Of course, the real reason he had to be present today was the informational nuke he’d carefully avoided setting off to date. It was about time for the detonation sequence to begin, and he sat back in his chair for several minutes, listening as Matucek’s officers began discussing assault patterns and deployment plans, then cleared his throat.
“Yes, sir?” Matucek turned to him instantly, raising attentive eyebrows, and Osterwelt permitted himself an embarrassed smile.
“Forgive me, General, but, as you know, the same ship which delivered your Golems brought me fresh dispatches from my associates. As I promised, they’ve been continuing their efforts to secure complete information on Santa Cruz while I saw to your reequipment needs. That information has now been obtained, and, well, I’m afraid it isn’t as good as we’d hoped.”
“Meaning, Mister Scully?” Matucek prompted when he paused with an apologetic little shrug.
“Meaning, General, that it seems one of those eighty-year-old installations on Santa Cruz was a Bolo maintenance depot.” The abrupt silence in the briefing room was remarkably like what a microphone picked up in deep space. “In fact, it appears there’s a single operable Bolo on the planet.”
“A Bolo!” Colonel Granger, Matucek’s senior field commander, was a hard-bitten woman with eyes like duralloy, but her harsh features were slack with shock as she half-rose. “There’s a goddamned Bolo down there?”
A babble of voices broke out, and Matucek himself turned on Osterwelt with a snarl.
“You want us to go up against a frigging Bolo with a single manned mech brigade? Are you out of your mother-loving mind?”
“Now, now, General!” Osterwelt raised his voice to cut through the confusion, and for all its briskness, his tone was soothing as well. “I told you at the outset that we hadn’t yet been able to obtain full information on the planet. But I also told you we want you to succeed, and we do. That’s why we provided the Golems in the first place—as an insurance policy.”
“Manned vehicles against a Bolo?” Colonel Granger’s laugh was cold and ugly. “The only useful insurance for that scenario would be life insurance, Mister Scully—and even that would only help our dependents!”
“I understand your dismay, Colonel,” Osterwelt replied, still careful to keep just the right mixture of embarrassment, placation, and confidence in his tone. “Truly I do, and I apologize profoundly for our delay in obtaining this information. But we do have complete data on the planet now—I’ve already taken the liberty of loading it into your ship’s data base—and the Bolo’s presence is the only surprise.”
“It’s damned well the only surprise I bloody need!” someone else put in, and Matucek nodded.
“Sir, I’m sorry to say it,” he said in a harsh voice that sounded as if he were nothing of the sort, “but this changes everything. We can’t go up against a Bolo. Even if we won, our casualties would be enormous, and that’s no kind of business for a mercenary outfit.”
“I’m afraid canceling the operation is not an option, General.” Osterwelt’s tone was much colder than it had been, and his eyes were more frigid still. “You’ve taken the equipment we offered you as the first installment on your fee, and my associates would take it very much amiss if you tried to break our agreement.” The briefing room was silent once more, and Osterwelt went on calmly. “Nor can you pretend that this situation takes you totally by surprise. I informed you when you accepted the contract that our data was still partial. If you had a problem with that, you should have said so then.”
“You talk mighty big for a man who’s all alone on our ship,” a battalion commander muttered in an ugly voice, and Osterwelt nodded.