“Who did it?” Ursula asked.
“Little hard to tell,” Svoboda said. He shrugged. “Won’t take long to straighten out.” He looked thoughtful, then shrugged again. “Can’t think Barton will be foolish enough to attack this headquarters, but I expect I ought to buck this over to Rottermill, just in case it wasn’t a mistake.” He typed furiously for a moment.
“Attack?” Ursula asked. “How?”
“Bombs. Missiles,” Svoboda said. “Not likely any would get through. We have a few nasty surprises for anyone who tries. Less likely that Barton would try it.”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Juanita asked.
“What would—Ah. Here’s Sergeant Albright with something more fit to drink.” Svoboda waited until the steward had poured a sparkling wine for everyone. “Cheers. As I was saying, what would it get Major Barton to attack regimental headquarters? Besides making everyone mad at him? It’s not strictly in the Code, but the tradition is strong that you don’t do that until you’ve warned the other chap.”
“But we’re about to—” Lysander caught himself. “Aren’t we about to attack Barton’s headquarters?”
“Certainly not,” Svoboda said. “We don’t make war on women and children. Barton’s Bulldogs have their base near Dagon. We won’t go near that. Why should we?”
“Wouldn’t it help win this war?” Ursula asked.
“Not really,” Svoboda said. “Oh, we’d get his computers, and a lot of his central stores, all right. As against that, we’d make this place a legitimate target. We’d have to detail more troops and equipment to defend our headquarters. Our troops in the field would have to worry about their families.” The captain shrugged. “It’s making war on civilians, and we just don’t do that sort of thing. Not without good reason.”
“It would be expensive, too,” Ursula said.
Svoboda looked at her through drooping eyelids. “Aye. Should we not be concerned wi’ expenses, lassie?”
“You’d do better to adopt a Latin accent,” Lysander said.
“One mimics Captain Alana at considerable risk,” Svoboda said. “The Mess President has ways of getting his own back.”
“I suppose a mercenary regiment is in business to make money,” Ursula said. “I guess I just never thought that through.”
“Well, yes, we are,” Svoboda said. “Which means we keep the costs down. That includes troops, of course. Good people are the most expensive item we have.” His voice had a bantering tone, but there was an edge of menace in it as well.
“But your business is winning,” Ursula said.
“Ursa—”
“Actually, she has a point,” Svoboda said. “Our business is winning. But at what cost? Some games aren’t worth the candle— Excuse me.” Svoboda’s computer console gave out several soft bleeps. Svoboda typed an acknowledgment, then frowned at the screen. “As I thought, we won’t be moving the Mess—but it looks like we’ll have to forego its pleasures, Mr. Prince. We’re both wanted in conference.” He gripped the edge of the table and stood carefully.
“When will you be back?” Ursula demanded.
Svoboda glanced at his watch. “Lysander may not be back at all this evening.”
“But—”
“I’ll try to get away for a minute,” Lysander said.
“But—Mark—” Juanita protested.
“Ah. And Cornet Fuller is flying the colonel’s helicopter. Not likely he’ll have much time off for the next few days. I’ll try to remind the colonel that your husband will need a few minutes before they take off—O Lor’, we haven’t found you a place to stay, either!”
“Would you like to stay with me?” Ursula asked. “There’s plenty of room.”
“Oh—well I wouldn’t like—”
“No trouble at all,” Ursula said. “His Highness has other interests—”
“Well, thank you.”
The computer console beeped more insistently.
“That’s all right, then?” Svoboda asked. “Good. I’d best be going. Juanita. Ursula. Pleased to have met you.” He bowed slightly and limped toward the door.
Lysander stood. “I’ll try to see they give your husband a moment.” He looked to Ursula. “Where will you be?”
“Here for dinner, then your rooms,” Ursula said. “And—be careful.”
* * *
“I wish I could be calm like you,” Juanita said. “But I’m scared. You do this much?”
Ursula laughed. “Send my man off to war? First time. You too?”
“Yes, we haven’t been married long—actually, we was never married at all, not in a church. Mark’s from Earth. Sent here as a rebel. I was born to convicts on a borshite plantation. You from Sparta too?”
Ursula chuckled. “No-oo, not quite. I was born with a contract too. Except I had the good fortune to be owned by the Hilton, and they sent me to a good school. As an investment.” Ursula smiled musingly. “You’re luckier than me. At least the man you’re sending off will come back to you. Mine won’t.”
“I don’t understand—”
“I was contracted to a hotel. As a hostess. A hotel where Lysander, Prince of Sparta happened to stay.”
“Oh. But—I think he likes you,” Juanita said.
“He likes me all right. And so what? I doubt that a future king has any large place in his future for a hotel girl.”
“Oh. But that’s awful. You like him—”
“Is it that easy to see?”
“Yes. Ursula—what will you do?”
“I’ll get by.” Ursula laughed suddenly. “After all, I’ve been ruined.”
“Ruined?”
“A poem I ran across in the hotel library,” Ursula said. “Written a hundred years ago on Earth by Thomas Hardy. I liked it enough to memorize it.”
“Oh. My mother used to read poems to me. Do you really remember it? Tell me.”
“Well—all right. Two girls from the country meet—
“Oh, ‘Melia, my dear, this does everything crown!
Who could have supposed I should meet you in Town?
And whence such fair garments, such prosperi-ty?
“Oh, didn’t you know I’d been ruined? said she.
—”You left us in tatters, without shoes or socks,
Tired of digging potatoes, and spudding up docks;
And now you’ve gay bracelets and bright feathers three!”
“Yes: That’s how we dress when we’re ruined,” said she.
—”At home in the barton you said ‘thee’ and ‘thou’,
And ‘thik oon’ and ‘theas oon’ and ‘t’other’; but now
Your talking quite fits ‘ee for high compa-ny!”
“Some polish is gained with one’s ruin,” said she.
—”Your hands were like paws then, your face blue and bleak
But now I’m bewitched by your delicate cheek,
And your little gloves fit as on any la-dy!”
“We never do work when we’re ruined,” said she.
—”You used to call home-life a hag-ridden dream,
And you’d sigh, and you’d sock; but at present you seem
To know not of megrims or melancho-ly!”
“True. One’s pretty lively when ruined,” said she
—”I wish I had feathers, a fine sweeping gown,
And a delicate face, and could strut about Town!”
“My dear—a raw country girl, such as you be,
Cannot quite expect that. You ain’t ruined,” said she.
“That’s—” Juanita turned away with tears in her eyes.
“Hey, no need to get upset,” Ursula said. “Don’t cry over me! I’ll get by—”
“Not you,” Juanita said. “I suppose I should be thinking about you, but—that poem is about me, too. What’d it say, ‘raw country girl’? That’s me! I’m supposed to be an officer’s wife, and I don’t know anything. I could dream, about—about marrying a foreman, or maybe a planter; I know plantation life, but what am I goin’ to do here? I can do farming, and take in washing. I did some house work in the big house. I don’t know anything else. You’re educated—”
“And ruined,” Ursula said. “Don’t forget that.”
XXI
Pipe Major Douglas raised his baton and brought it down sharply to cut the pipes off in mid skirl. Lysander, feeling bulky in combat leathers and Nemourlon armor, followed Falkenberg into the first of the four waiting helicopters. Harv Middleton climbed in behind them.
“Prince, I like those,” Harv said. He gestured to indicate the pipers. “We ought to do that at home.”
Lysander nodded thoughtfully. He had been surprised to find pipers at the airfield, and had been ready to laugh at the needless ceremony. Why should they pipe troops aboard helicopters? Then they began to play the stirring old marches that had sent men to a thousand battles, and he knew.
They did nothing like that on Sparta. Why not? Leonidas and his Three Hundred had marched to Thermopylae to the sound of flutes. Something to mention to the Council . . .
The helicopter was surprisingly quiet even without combat helmets. When Lysander and the others put their helmets on in obedience to Falkenberg’s gesture, every bit of the helicopter motor noise was gone. Instinctively Lysander adjusted the gain on the helmet’s pickup until he could dimly hear the chopper motors again.
The helicopter held ten men in addition to its own crew, two rows of five on each side of the ship. The deck between them was covered with their equipment. The helicopter’s crew chief inspected the equipment lashings. “Looks good, Mr. Fuller.”
Lysander strapped himself into his seat. Falkenberg sat to Lysander’s right. Harv was to his left, with two Scouts beyond him. Andrew Mace, the senior Scout lieutenant, sat across from Falkenberg, with second Lieutenant Harry Janowitz next to him. Then came Corporal McClaren, who seemed to be Falkenberg’s bodyguard, and two others of the Headquarters Guard. The guards were all big men, and looked strangely alike. Harv had said they were pretty good troops, which was a lot for Harv to concede to anyone but Spartans.