“But you thought you’d make sure I had the information,” Hammer said with an approving nod. “Right, I do.”
He gestured to the southern sky. “That’s the UC delegation,” he said. “They’re our principals on this contract so they need to be here.”
The first starship settled onto the far end of the pad, close by the ship that had brought the Waldheim Dragoons. The new vessel was about the size of the one that had held an entire brigade of armored cavalry. Its sizzling discharge ceased, but the concrete continued to vibrate at a dense bass note.
Lindeyar straightened the fall of his jacket and strode into the laager past the combat cars. His bodyguards waited beyond the circle.
The civilians who’d arrived in the other vehicle huddled for a moment. The old man wearing a fur stole and cap of office directed a question at Colonel Priamedes with a peevish expression.
Priamedes snapped a reply and walked after Lindeyar, his daughter at his side. Daphne kept her face blank, but Huber could see from the way she held herself that she was ready to grab her father if his body failed him. Exchanging looks of indignation, the four civilians followed.
The two aircars coming from the south landed with a brusque lack of finesse; one even bounced. Huber leaned back slightly to get a better look between two vehicles of Lieutenant Messeman’s platoon. He’d been right about what he thought he’d seen: the four civilians getting out of the aircars were members of the UC Senate whom he’d seen before when he was assigned to duties in Benjamin, but White Mice were driving and guarding them. Their battledress was as ragged as Huber’s own, and one trooper’s plastron had been seared down to the ceramic core.
The man in the fur cap glared at Hammer. “You sir!” he said. “I’m President Rihorta. Colonel Priamedes tells me you’re the chief of these hirelings. May I ask why it’s necessary to hold these discussions in such a, such a—”
At a loss for words, he waved a hand toward the chaos beyond. His sleeves were fur-trimmed also. As if on cue, a fuel tank in the vehicle park exploded, sending a bubble of orange fire skyward.
“—a place?”
“Well, Mr. President . . .” Hammer said, putting a hand under his breastplate to take some of its chafing weight off his shoulders. “If I needed a better reason than that I felt like it, I’d say because it’ll convince you that you don’t have any choice. I could burn all of Bezant down around your ears even easier than I took the spaceport that your survival depends on.”
“Bezant is a civilian center, not a proper target of military operations,” Colonel Priamedes said in a tight voice.
“Is it?” Hammer snapped at the Solace officer. “I could say the same about Benjamin, couldn’t I?”
He waved his hand curtly. “But we’re not here to discuss, gentlemen,” he went on. “We already did all the discussing we needed to with those—”
He pointed to the bullet-gouged hull of the combat car he’d arrived in.
“—and with the Hogs. We’re here to dictate the end of the war on such terms as seem good to our principals.”
The UC senators walked between the combat cars with as much hesitation as the Solace delegation had shown. One of them was coughing. The air reeked of smoke and ozone, so familiar to Huber that he hadn’t thought about it till he watched the civilians’ grimaces and shallow breaths.
A woman of thirty wearing battledress of an unfamiliar pattern entered the laager with the UC civilians. She nodded to Hammer, then stood at Parade Rest and watched the by-play with eyes that were never still.
“Masters and mistresses,” Hammer said. His tone was even, but Huber noticed he gripped his breastplate fiercely enough to mottle his knuckles. “You politicians probably know each other—”
The delegations exchanged wary glances, even faint nods. They had more in common with one another than they did with the soldiers and war material surrounding them.
“—and you know Mister Lindeyar—”
The Nonesuch official looked around the gathering, his face without expression.