“Greetings,” a voice said. The creature shivered, very slightly. “You have items to sell?”
“Weapons,” Cn!lss said. “Very crude, but very effective weapons.”
There was a long pause. “You will supply details,” the toneless voice said. “Now.”
Kevin’s interface reported that it was being asked for a file. Kevin hesitated, then sent the file containing the weapons information and specifications. AK-47s, he had been told, were crude compared to Galactic technology, but simple enough for the Horde to operate without breaking them regularly. But the downside was that the Galactics would have no trouble in duplicating the weapons. A few hours with a fabricator would be all they needed.
“Primitive,” the voice stated. “But effective.”
“Yes,” Cn!lss said, quickly. “And they can be reconfigured as necessary.”
“Indeed,” the voice agreed. “How many can you supply?”
Kevin stepped forward. “We can supply a thousand weapons and ten thousand rounds of ammunition right now,” he said. “More can be produced later, upon demand.”
The negotiation process went backwards and forwards for nearly an hour, as the humans showed their wares and waited to see how the alien reacted. Kevin wasn’t too surprised to discover that most of their wares were almost worthless, but the alien seemed oddly impressed by some of the alcohol and human artworks. Eventually, the alien made an offer, which Cn!lss turned down and countered with one of his own. It was clear, Kevin decided, that Cn!lss had been doing the bargaining for the Horde. Or maybe that he should have been doing it, if he hadn’t been allowed to do it. Eventually, they came to an agreement.
“I’ll have the weapons shipped down to the planet’s surface tomorrow,” Kevin said. They’d have to hire a landing strip, of course. That too would be expensive. “You can pay us the remainder of the balance then.”
“I may take some of your cargo on spec,” the creature offered. There was still no hint of feeling in its voice. As it inched forward, Kevin had a sudden impression of claws — lots of claws. He had to fight the urge to jump backwards. “It may be worth something to others.”
Kevin nodded. The alien had a very good reputation, according to Cn!lss, for driving a hard bargain, but he didn’t try to cheat his clients once the deal was made. Indeed, if he did manage to find a market for anything else the humans had brought, he could be relied upon to set up the deal… taking a commission for himself, of course. Shaking his head, he bowed politely to the alien and allowed Cn!lss to lead him out of the building. The two guards nodded their heads as they stepped past. Clearly, Kevin noted, they’d moved from potential problems to valued customers.
Outside, it was as hot as ever, but darkness had fallen over the city. It took him a moment to realise that the sandstorm had grown stronger, strong enough to block out the sun. Most of the aliens seemed to have fallen back into their buildings, leaving the streets almost deserted. A cold chill ran down the back of his neck as they started to make their way back to the hotel. Something didn’t feel right… old instincts, honed in Afghanistan, sprang to life. Something was definitely wrong. Mentally, he started scouting for ways to evade possible enemy contact…
Cn!lss let out a noise as four aliens, four very familiar aliens, stepped into view. Kevin froze as the Hordesmen lifted their weapons, pointing them right at the humans. Their eyes scanned the humans quickly, then there was a brilliant flash of blue light…
…And then Kevin crashed down into darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Heinlein Colony, Luna
“Thank you for coming,” Rochester said.
Steve scowled at him. It had been 0300 on the starship when his interface had jerked him awake — and, for good measure, woken Mariko too. If it hadn’t been an urgent call, he might just have given in to the temptation to go right back to bed. Instead, he’d taken the shuttle from Earth orbit to Heinlein Colony. If something had gone badly wrong, bad enough for Rochester to call him, it probably demanded immediate attention.
“You’re welcome,” he said, trying to remind himself not to snarl. Just because he was tired was no excuse for snapping at a subordinate. He’d heard plenty of stories about commanding officers who’d refused to allow their subordinates to wake them, even when the enemy forces were on the advance. It was one of the reasons Adolf Hitler had lost World War Two. “What happened?”
“A crime,” Rochester said, as he turned to lead the way into the colony. “Quite a bad one, I’m afraid.”
Steve winced. He’d been expecting something to happen ever since they started expanding the circle of recruitment wider and wider. Ex-military personnel tended to have some common sense, particularly the ones who had served in combat, but civilians could do some damn silly things from time to time. Or maybe it was an ex-military person. Some of them could be idiotic at times too.
“Shit,” he said. The legal code they’d devised was about to be tested, badly. “What happened?”
“From what we’ve put together,” Rochester said, “Daniel Witherspoon managed to get very drunk last night, probably from one of the illicit stills. While drunk, he started an argument with his wife that turned into a fight; he beat her pretty damn badly. And then his daughter tried to intervene and got beaten too. They’re both currently in the medical bay.”
Steve sucked in a breath. “How bad was it?”
“They would both have been sore for several days, according to the medics, if they hadn’t been treated,” Rochester said. “The lack of any real damage is quite indicative.”
“Bastard,” Steve said. If Witherspoon had been so completely drunk he’d forgotten himself, it would have almost certainly resulted in considerably more serious damage. Instead, he’d managed to hurt both his wife and daughter without inflicting any permanent harm. Or, at least, without inflicting any permanent physical harm. Who knew how they would react after being beaten so badly? “Where is he?”
“In the cells,” Rochester said. “Jean is keeping an eye on him.”
Steve hastily accessed the interface and retrieved the file on Daniel Witherspoon. He’d been discharged from the army four years ago and, since then, had spent most of his time trying to hold down a succession of part-time jobs, while drinking heavily. Someone would probably claim, in hindsight, that recruiting him had been a mistake. But, looking at the file, it was clear that Charles had felt sorry for him. Witherspoon, out of the army, had had few skills that any civilian employers wanted or needed. He’d certainly never really tried to develop himself.
But there was no point in feeling sorry for him, Steve rebuked himself sharply. Maybe Witherspoon hadn’t been able to get a break until now, but it didn’t excuse beating his wife and child. Or… had he turned aggressive because of his success? Steve had wondered, sometimes, what would have happened to him if he hadn’t had the ranch? Would he have drunk himself into an early grave? Or would he have sucked in his pride and stayed with the military?
They reached the handful of holding cells and stopped. Jean D’Arcy looked up at them, then smiled. Tall, black, with hair cropped close to her skull, she looked formidable even without combat implants. And she’d held down a position of sheriff in Texas long enough to be utterly confident in her own abilities. When she’d been offered the post of Lunar Sheriff, she hadn’t hesitated before accepting the job.