“You want Barkazil military units?” Holson says. “For what? Any attempt to liberate Barkazi with two brigades is naive.”
Aiah looks at Holson and hopes the surprise she feels shows on her face. “Did I say I wanted to invade Barkazi? I’m not interested in bloodbaths. But see, now…”
She leans forward, narrowing the distance between them. “If we can join forces,” she says, “then my government will be very grateful, both to me and you. Their gratitude has already extended to settling Barkazil refugees here, to establishing a Barkazil community. And if we wished to try to alter the situation in Barkazi, the government here would help us. Whereas…” Aiah looks at Holson for a moment, and then at Galagas. “Well, you know your employers best. What sort of gratitude would you expect from them? You’d be lucky if you got a bonus on your way back to the Timocracy.”
Galagas nibbles at his mustache with white lower incisors. “If we switch sides in the middle of a campaign,” he says, “we can’t go back to the Timocracy. We have all sworn to obey the Timocratic Code. They wouldn’t have a unit that didn’t meet with their commitments.”
Holson’s big forefinger jabs at Aiah. “Your government had better be damned grateful, is what we’re saying,” he says. “Because if we join you, we’re going to have to stay in Caraqui permanently, and bring our families here.”
Aiah looks at Holson’s forefinger just long enough to make it clear she’s not intimidated by the gesture, and then she leans back in her chair.
“I am confident my government’s gratitude will extend that far,” Aiah says.
“You’re certain of this?”
A doubt raises its hand, like an uncertain student in a classroom. Aiah ignores it. “I can confirm it very quickly if you wish.”
“A bonus on signing?”
“I am authorized to offer three thousand dinars per soldier, five thousand for each field grade officer, and for senior officers,” nodding at the two present, “ten thousand.”
This is actually half of what she’s been authorized, but there’s no reason to tip her hand at this point.
“Standard rates of pay afterward?”
“Whatever you’re earning now.”
“Moving bonuses for our families?”
She hesitates. “Yes. I can get that. Say a thousand dinars per person?” She can take it out of the savings on the signing bonuses.
“How long a contract?”
“A year, extendable by mutual agreement.”
There is a pause. The two men look at each other. Galagas gives a little shake of his head. Holson turns back to Aiah, a frown on his face.
“We’re giving up our livelihoods,” Holson says, “and only for a year’s employment? We want more.”
“Five years guaranteed,” Galagas says.
“Five years, extendable. Or maybe…” Holson frowns at the floor for a moment. “Maybe commissions in the Caraqui army. It’s not entirely out of line—you’ve got a lot of mercenaries even in your regular army now, because native officers are so inexperienced.”
“With a guarantee,” Galagas adds, “that our soldiers will be able to continue serving with one another for five years. We stay together as a unit, not to be broken up, for five years.”
Aiah thinks for a moment, but she daren’t hesitate for too long. There’s momentum building here, and she doesn’t want to slow it down.
“I can get you the five-year guarantee,” she says, and hopes it’s true. “For the regular army commissions I’d have to speak to the War Minister, but I think they’d be happy to have officers of your experience on board.”
Might as well ladle on some flattery while she can.
“And then?” Holson asks.
Aiah smiles at him. “Sorry, General?”
“Barkazi. What about Barkazi?”
Aiah hesitates. “If this works, we’ll be united. We’ll have a power base in Caraqui, a government that will support us.” She forces a smile. “The rest depends on how cunning the Cunning People actually are, don’t you think? Whatever excuse the occupying forces had for annexing the Barkazi Sectors, the reason is long gone. If we stand united, here and there, surely there isn’t anything we can’t accomplish.”
Holson sits stone-faced, and Galagas gnaws his mustache again, but Aiah senses that she has somehow won. She’s said the right thing; she’s raised some strange, unreal hope in them.
And oddly enough, she feels hope glowing within herself. Before this situation, she’d never given thought to Barkazi—she’d never been there, and her family’s stories, all of horror and war, never gave her the slightest inclination to visit. But now she finds herself wondering if Barkazi would feel different beneath her feet than any other metropolis, if she would, on arrival, somehow sense that Barkazi was home.
She could hardly feel more displaced than she does now, sitting behind the desk of a minor, aquatic gangster, in a dark, foul-smelling watery cavern inhabited by twisted people with altered genes, negotiating with potential turncoats on behalf of a government that is not, when all is said and done, her own…
“Those recruiting bonuses,” Galagas says, crossing one knee over the other, “they seem a bit low to me. Considering what we’d be expected to do.”
Inwardly, Aiah smiles. Love of negotiation must be planted somewhere in Barkazil genetics.
“I think they’re fair,” she says, “though I suppose there’s a little room for negotiation.”
NEW CITY NOW!
Constantine’s presence tingles around her. Aiah bathes in it for a moment, fantasizes that she can taste him on her tongue… She raises a hand to touch the ivory necklace he’d given her, a tactile remembrance.
—I think it went well, she sends.
—Any problems?
—They want the sun and the moon, but I have made them settle only for the moon.
She senses Constantine’s amusement. After she had agreed with Galagas and Holson to meet again tomorrow, and seen them back across the bridge to their boat, she had called the number in Gunalaht and told them that she would be available for contact every hour, on the hour.
—They want a five-year contract with Caraqui, Aiah sends. They say they can’t go back to the Timocracy after violating their Code.
—Five years? I suppose we shall still need mercenaries after that time.
—They suggest, as an alternative, that they could be made a part of the regular army establishment. But they want their unit to stay together for five years.
There is a moment’s hesitation. Through the plasm link, Aiah can sense the movement of Constantine’s thought.
—Yes, he sends. I can give them that. They are a good unit.
The Treasury was spending tens of billions on this war.
Aiah knows that Constantine is not likely to quibble over payments and guarantees to the people who could actually bring an end to the fighting.
—And there is something else that / want, Minister.
—Ye-es? Constantine’s answer is wary.
—I want the same arrangement for Karlo’s Brigade, if Ceison wants it. If we are going to reward one unit for changing sides, we should also reward the unit that stays loyal.
—Many units have stayed loyal besides Karlo’s Brigade. Do we make them all such promises?
—Very well. I will modify my request. Let Karlo’s Brigade have the same contract as Geymard’s men.
There was a powerful silence. Geymard’s Cheloki had been with Constantine since the beginning. They were his bodyguard, his spearhead, the steel foundation of his military power.
When Constantine’s reply comes, she can sense amusement beneath the concession.