And Barton wasn’t wearing a face mask. On the other hand, how many Bulldog marksmen had Girerd in their sights? Wheels within wheels. But you couldn’t fault Barton’s success just because he took precautions.
“Is that what that tin in the study was about? Hmm. Well, I did need him alive. He’s stupid, but killing him wouldn’t make it easier to get the others to call off the revolt.”
“Indeed. Most helpful, the way you managed things. Still, it is a bit odd you’d be concerned about our problems,” Blaine said.
“Odd? No, sir,” Barton said. “Seemed clear enough to me. Girerd’s people can’t pay me, and Bronson sure won’t.” He shrugged. “You and Falkenberg are the only ones on the planet who might hire me. Making your life difficult can’t help me at all.”
“Ah,” Blaine said. He sipped at his whiskey.
“What will happen to Girerd?” Lysander asked.
“Oh, he’s earned a stiff lesson,” Blaine said. “But after all, I did proclaim a partial amnesty. No criminal penalties for the rebels, but some stiff civil fines. I’ll use the money for a better satellite system, that kind of thing. I expect we ought to let the amnesty cover Girerd. Assuming it’s all right with Colonel Falkenberg.”
“I won’t object,” Falkenberg said. “I expect his lesson will be stiff enough. Among other things, he owes Major Barton quite a lot.”
Barton looked glum, “I wish he had it to pay. Or someone did. We could use the money.”
“You could have gone with Bronson,” Falkenberg said.
“So I could,” Barton said. “And from what I hear is happening in the Grand Senate, I might have been joining the winning side.” He shrugged. “Never quite seemed to get around to it.”
Falkenberg nodded. “You’re available, then.”
Barton chuckled. “Colonel, I doubt you’ve ever seen anyone as available as me.”
“What makes you believe Bronson’s faction is going to win?” Governor Blaine asked.
“Well, that investigation—”
“Will be quashed,” Blaine said. “Bronson doesn’t have the votes. If this borloi maneuver had worked it might have been a different story.”
“Well, well,” Barton said. “So nobody has a majority. Puts things back to what they were a year ago. Except that Falkenberg and I have both of us done ourselves out of a job. Governor, I may as well ask for the record. Are any of my people going to be charged? For that matter, am I under arrest?”
“I think that’s what we’re here to discuss. You certainly could be charged,” Blaine said. “Arson, murder, aiding and abetting rebellion . . .”
“All done strictly in accord with the Laws of War,” Barton said.
“Yes, certainly,” Blaine said. “That’s the only reason we have anything to discuss. Still, there is some question about the legitimacy of the group that hired you. Bona fide political group or criminal gang?”
“I guess it all depends on whether you want to put my arse in a sling.”
“Actually,” Blaine said, “I don’t have much choice in the matter. If I charge you, I have to rule they’re criminals, and that makes hash out of my political settlement.”
“That’s about how I read it, too,” Barton said. “So?”
“So I would greatly prefer not to do that,” Blaine said. “On the other hand, you have enemies. Some of the loyal ranchers were hit pretty hard. Many would be happy to see you hanged.”
“I can live with their wanting it. Not so keen to see them get their wish.”
“Indeed. It would be easier if you were no longer here. Remove the reminder, so to speak.”
Barton shrugged. “Sure. How do we arrange that?”
“There might be a way,” Falkenberg said.
“Ha. You have an offer?”
“I may have.”
“Ah. But you’re not quite prepared to make it?”
“We’ll see. Time for another duty.” Falkenberg caught the Mess President’s eye, then stood. The pipers and singers fell quiet, and the babble in the room faded out. “Mr. President,” Falkenberg said.
“Colonel!”
“A toast and a welcome. To Cornet Prince, once and future Prince of Sparta. He has earned the thanks of the Regiment.”
Everyone stood. “Mr. Prince,” Captain Alana said. The others echoed, “Mr. Prince.”
Not quite everyone, Lysander saw. Barton stood when the others did, but he didn’t say anything or raise his drink. Can’t really blame him.
He saw a flash of green three tables away, and recognized the gown he’d bought in the local shop. Of course she wore it. What else would she have?
Ursula stood next to Captain Peter Owensford. Her eyes met Lysander’s briefly as she raised her glass. Then she looked away, toward her escort.
He didn’t have time to think about that. The toast was done. My turn now. What do I say? He waited until the others were seated, and stood. “Mr. President?”
“Mr. Prince.”
“My thanks to the Regiment. A toast: May we be comrades in arms again.”
“Hear, hear,” someone shouted. Falkenberg nodded approval.
Ursula was leaning toward Captain Owensford. Whatever she said made him laugh. Then Mark and Juanita Fuller came over to sit beside her. They all seemed very happy.
There were more toasts, then Governor Blaine stood. “I can do no better than echo Prince Lysander,” he said. “To Sparta and Tanith and Falkenberg’s Legion, and a time when we will be comrades again. A time more likely now.”
A few more minutes, then the pipers resumed. Someone started a song.
“The Knight came back from the quest, muddied and sore he came.
Battered of shield and crest, bannerless, bruised and lame . . .”
“Governor, Major, if you’ll excuse me? Thank you. Mr. Prince, if you’d care to join me?” Falkenberg stood and gestured toward the door. “Perhaps we have a few items worth discussion.”
“Thank you, sir, I’d love to.” Lysander followed Falkenberg out. As he reached the door he heard Ursula’s laugh.
The song continued.
“Fighting we take no shame, better is man for a fall.
Merrily borne, the bugle-horn answered the warder’s call.
“Here is my lance to mend, Haro! Here is my horse to be shot!
Aye, they were strong, and the fight was long, but I paid as good as I got! Haro! I paid as good as I got!”
* * *
Falkenberg’s rooms were in a severely square detached building of sheet plastic that stood centered at the north end of the open area used as the regimental parade ground. They were met at the door by Corporal McClaren, who wore a very functional pistol over undress blues. Two more Headquarters Company troops were at the end of the hall.
The small study in Falkenberg’s quarters had the look of a monk’s cell. Spartan, Lysander thought. Actually, we go in for more decoration than this. He lives as the old Spartans must have.
There was one book case, of a wood native to Tanith. The desk was bare except for a screen set at a comfortable angle for reading. The keyboard was evidently concealed in a drawer. Lysander had once looked into the Regiment’s electronic library, and had been amazed: tens of thousands of volumes, histories and world literature, atlantes, art, and technology, philosophy and cook books and travelogues, all available in an instant. As long as the computers work he doesn’t need real books. So why does he have any at all? Lysander edged closer to the book case. The books were a jumbled collection, anthropology and military history mixed with biographies and novels. Most were cheaply bound, and they all looked as if Falkenberg had had them for a long time.
Falkenberg touched a hidden button. Music began, soft enough not to disturb conversation, loud enough to hear. Lysander frowned.
“Sir Hamilton Harty,” Falkenberg said. “It’s called ‘With The Wild Geese.'”
The room’s big central table was functional duraplast, with a top of clear Plexiglas over the liquid crystal display. Snifters and a decanter of brandy were already in place on the table. Corporal McClaren waited until Lysander and the Colonel were inside, then went out, closing the door behind him.
“Welcome,” Falkenberg said perfunctorily. “I won’t keep you long.”
As long as you like, Lysander thought. I doubt I’ll ever get used to that kind of party. Too much noise. He tried not to think of Ursula’s hand laid lightly on Captain Owensford’s arm. What was he to her? New lover? A date for the evening? Both? He squirmed as pictures came uninvited.
They sat and Falkenberg waved to indicate the brandy. “Help yourself.”
“I think I’ve had enough,” Lysander said.
“Perhaps. You don’t mind if I do? Thank you. You’ll be leaving soon.”
“I thought so. Now I’m not so sure. And you?”
“New Washington.”
“That’s a long way out from earth. What’s there?”
Falkenberg looked thoughtful. “What are your plans, Mr. Prince? I suppose I’d best return to using your proper title.”
“What’s proper? I’ve earned being Cornet Prince. I think I’d rather be Mr. Prince than Prince Lysander.”