The Prince by Jerry Pournelle and S.M. Stirling

Anton Girerd stood at the foot of the big conference and map table. He always seemed to be there. Barton wondered when the rancher leader ever slept. He was certainly conscientious enough. Or just worried. Chandos Wichasta, Senator Bronson’s representative, sat quietly in a far corner of the room. He acknowledged Barton with a raised eyebrow.

Captain Honistu looked up from the map table. “They’re moving, Major.”

Barton went to his place at the center of the table. His coffee mug was already there, and he drank a heavy swallow. Someday Carruthers is going to slip up and I’ll scald myself. “Tell me about it, Wally.”

“Two fronts. One’s obvious, they’re moving in force along the southeastern front. Almost no casualties. As you ordered, we’re firing off our long-range weapons and getting the hell out. We’ve knocked out half a dozen of their swamp boogies, but we’ll lose four ranches in the next hour.”

“And another fifty in a week, and so what?” Barton mused. “They could have had those anytime they really wanted. OK, try to make them pay something for the land, but it ain’t worth many casualties. Christian Johnny knows that, it won’t be worth many to him, either. So what’s he covering up?”

“Not exactly sure,” Honistu said. “Reports are still coming in. Looks big enough, Major. Aircraft commandeered. Commercial, even ranchers’ private planes. It looks like they’re after every airplane on the planet. And some of their air assault troops have been consolidating ranch lands, bringing in engineers.”

“Where?”

“Here’s the places we know about.” Blue lights came on across the map display. “And probables.” More lights, in light blue.

“Moving southwest,” Barton said.

“Yes, sir. We don’t know anything, but the pattern makes me think they’re after something in this area. Rochemont, even.”

“Makes more sense than his other operation. Think they’re on to us, Wally?”

“No data.”

“What does our man in the governor’s office say?”

“He can’t be reached, sir.”

“Can’t be reached.” Barton drank another heavy swallow of coffee. “As of when?”

“This morning, I guess. He went home at the usual time last night.”

“What happens when you call his home?”

Anton Girerd said, “A stranger answers. A woman who claims to be Alicia Chang Mardon’s visiting cousin. But Alicia has no cousin.”

“Sure of that?”

“We are quite aware of our relatives, Major.”

“I expect you are. Sorry.”

“He’s not the only one,” Honistu said. “We can’t reach any of our people in the governor’s office.”

“None. I see. OK. We’re sure none of them knew about this place?”

“We told none of them,” Girerd said. His voice was filled with disdain.

“And none of my troops who know ever talked to them,” Barton said. “All right, Falkenberg’s closed out our sources. We knew it would happen some day. Now he’s on the move, possibly directed at Rochemont, possibly just getting a staging base in the southern area. Sure would be bad luck if he wanted Rochemont as a staging base.”

“Wouldn’t make a bad one,” Honistu said.

“Yeah.” Barton let the toothpick dance across his mouth again. “Especially if they look at the fuel facilities here. Mr. Girerd, Mardon may not have known about Rochemont, but he did know about Norton Star.”

“Yes.”

“Should we be worried?”

Girerd shrugged. “I have been considering that. I don’t know, because I can’t guess what pressures Falkenberg might put on him.”

“Me either. So. We assume Falkenberg has learned we have a ship in orbit. What will he do?”

“As long as he doesn’t know where it lands, nothing,” Captain Honistu said. “There are no space defense forces on Tanith, and that CD warship is a long way off.”

“Yeah. OK, Captain, what have you done about all this?”

“Put our people on full alert with orders to maintain security from satellite and air surveillance. Upped the frequency of our surveillance sweeps. Alerted Norton Star to stand by,” Honistu said. “And sent for you.”

“Right.” Barton studied the situation map for another minute. Then he turned to Anton Girerd. “Sir, I recommend that we bring in the landing ship and get the stuff out of here.”

Girerd sighed. “I thought you would decide that.” He sighed again. “A few more days. Van Hoorn has had an excellent year. A few more days—but of course you are correct, Major. Better this much than nothing. I will notify Jonkheer Van Hoorn to make the best arrangement he can with the governor.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind.” Chandos Wichasta spoke quietly, his voice barely carrying through the library. “He must take his chances like everyone else.”

“Now wait—” Girerd protested.

“Wait for what?” Wichasta asked. He got up from his place at the far corner of the room and came over to the big staff table. His voice remained low and persuasive. “All this is a strain, and I am sorry, but surely it is clear to you? The more of the crop the governor takes in, the lower the price we will get for what you have gathered. While it would be better if Jonkheer Van Hoorn’s crops were added to our collection, we gain nearly as much if they are merely destroyed. If this disturbs you, pay the Jonkheer from your increased profits.”

“What will you contribute?” Girerd demanded.

Wichasta looked thoughtful. “We will pay twenty-five percent of the value of Van Hoorn’s crop if none of it reaches Falkenberg and Blaine. We will accept any reasonable estimate of its value.”

“Not enough.”

Wichasta shrugged. “It is all I have authority to give. Perhaps I can persuade my principals to pay more, but I would not be honest with you if I promised they would. They are hard men. I suggest that if you wish Van Hoorn to receive further compensation, you must provide it yourself. Major Barton, I take it you are requesting that we send down the landing boat?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I shall arrange it. Immediately?”

“As soon as convenient,” Barton said.

“Very well. I will call Norton Star.” Wichasta left the room.

“Arrogant bastard,” Girerd said.

“Yes, sir,” Barton said. Bronson’s people usually are. And from here on you’ll spend a lot of your life in debt to people like Wichasta. “OK, Wally, satellite surveillance security can go hang. Full alert for everyone. Deploy air defenses. Full radar search. Get ready to transfer the borloi, and have the fuel people stand by. I want that damn thing in and out fast.”

* * *

Sergeant Manuel Fuentes was taking a leak against the side of the horse barn when Private Hapworth found him.

“Corporal Hardy says tell you two things, Sarge. Full alert and stand by. Just got the word,” Hapworth said.

“Another damn drill. Shit.”

“No drill, Sarge. Leastwise the comm room people sure don’t act like it’s a drill. Falkenberg’s on the move. The major’s bringing in that landing boat.”

“Oh, ho. Be glad of that. This duty’s soft enough, but I’m gettin’ tired of it. Time we was out of here,” Fuentes said. “What’s the other thing?”

“Sarge?”

“You said there was two things Hardy wanted you to tell me.”

“Oh. Yeah, I did. Other thing is, the nessies are freaking out.”

“Eh?”

“Whole shit pot of them, less than a mile off shore. Eatin’ something. Eatin’ each other, too.”

Sergeant Fuentes shuddered. “Saw that once. They got a seacow, and by the time they were finished with it one of the nessies was wounded, and—” He shuddered again. Corporal Hardy knew about Fuentes’s interest in nessies. When they’d first landed on Tanith, Fuentes took a dip in the ocean. Then the officers told them about nessies. Thinking about that incident still gave him the willies, but it had also given him a fanatical interest in the big sea carnivores. He wanted to go see what they were doing.

And Hardy wants my job. “Nessies will wait,” he said. “We better go check on the fuel supply.” He was halfway to the fuel shed when the alarms began to sound.

* * *

Sergeant Miscowsky lay in the goopy mud at the edge of the jungle and cursed whatever tiny thing had got inside his pants leg. He hoped it wasn’t one of the thin red worms that passed for leeches on Tanith, but he was afraid it was. As long as it didn’t climb up to his crotch— He ignored the crawly feeling and carefully panned his binoculars across the Rochemont scene for the tenth time in as many minutes. There was just enough light to see, and the sky was brightening by the minute. Miscowsky scanned slowly, from the docking area on his left to the big house in the center, then across fields and barns—

He’d just focused on a barn when its roof opened down the middle and the two halves dropped to the sides. A radar dish popped up and began to rotate.

Holy shit. He thumbed a button on the small console on his left sleeve. “Get the colonel. They’re doing something,” he said.