He pointed his left arm to the north, fingers outstretched, though he didn’t turn his head away from the Solace delegation. “There’s a division of the Nonesuch National Guard on the ground already. We can bring more troops in if we have to, but given the condition of your forces that obviously won’t be necessary. And if you’re thinking of mercenaries—I’m afraid you’ve overextended your off-planet credit already. Now that you no longer hold Port Plattner, Solace is bankrupt. The money you’ve placed with the Bonding Authority will just cover repatriation of the units already contracted to you, and the Authority won’t approve any further hires.”
All eyes turned to Mistress Dozier. She shrugged and said without emphasis, “The Authority isn’t in the business of making moral judgments. We’re employed—”
Her face hardened.
“—by all parties, let me remind you, to enforce contracts, nothing more. Mister Lindeyar has correctly stated the situation insofar as the Bonding Authority is concerned.”
Colonel Priamedes’ head lolled on Huber’s shoulder. “Papa?” Daphne whispered urgently.
Huber touched the colonel’s throat with an index and middle finger; his pulse was strong. Priamedes hadn’t recovered from the knocks he’d taken at Northern Star Farms, and the present events were simply more than his system could handle without shutting down.
Huber’s leg didn’t hurt any more; the adrenaline surging through him was the best medicine for pain. He didn’t know how long he could keep this up, but for the time being he could do his job—whatever that job turned out to be. He eyed Sigmund Lindeyar without expression.
“I don’t have to explain this to Colonel Hammer,” Lindeyar said, “but for the rest of you I’ll point out that any mercenary unit which works without a paid contract becomes an outlaw in the eyes of the Bonding Authority. Civilization can’t survive with bands of mad dogs roving from planet to planet without rules.”
Hammer began to laugh so hard that his loose breastplate flapped back and forth. He said, “Oh, what a principled gentleman you are, Master Lindeyar!” and then bent over again in another spasm of mirth.
“On behalf of the Colonel,” Major Pritchard said as the delegates of both sides stared at Hammer in disbelief, “I can assure you that Hammer’s Regiment is scrupulously careful to operate within the constraints of the Bonding Authority. We aren’t vigilantes who imagine that it’s our duty to impose justice. . . .”
Pritchard swept the politicians with a gaze as contemptuous as that of Lindeyar a few moments earlier. He went on, “And if we were, we’d be hard put to find an employer who could meet our standards, wouldn’t we?”
Lindeyar seemed more disconcerted by Hammer’s laughter than he might have been by anger. He looked at the bodyguards standing by the aircar he’d arrived in: all three had their hands in plain sight. When he followed their gaze back, he saw Deseau’s tribarrel aimed at them. Frenchie grinned down and pointed his right index finger at Lindeyar’s face like a pistol.
In a careful voice, Lindeyar said, “Of course, Colonel Hammer, your troops’ performance on Plattner’s World won’t go unnoticed, particularly the brilliant stroke by which you captured the port here. I’m sure you’ll have no difficulty finding employment in the near future.”
Hammer straightened. The laughter was gone; he gave Lindeyar a look of cold appraisal.
“I worry about a lot of things, Mr. Lindeyar,” he said. “It’s my job to worry; I’m in charge. But I’ve never had to worry about somebody hiring us. My Slammers are the best there is, and the whole universe knew it before we came here to Plattner’s World.”
Lindeyar nodded, licking his lips. “Yes, of course,” he said. He cleared his throat before going on, “Since there’s no need to conclude the formalities at this moment, I’ll be off to other matters which require my attention. President Rihorta, I’ll be in touch with you regarding the wording of your government’s concession of Port Plattner.”
He backed away from the circle, smiling fitfully each time his eyes met those of one of the Slammers. His hip bumped Foghorn’s skirt; he turned with a shocked expression, then walked at an increasing pace to his aircar.