“I will remember that,” Grace said, thinking the matter settled, but the old lady stood.
“One question, Grace. Are we in rebellion against The Republic of the Sphere? If they come, do we fight them the way we should have fought Santorini?”
“Good question,” came from several places around the table.
“No,” Grace quickly answered. “St. Mary and St. Patrick know there’s enough blood being shed around human space. I am not raising a flag of rebellion. What I am raising is Alkalurops’ ancient flag. When The Republic comes, we’ll talk to them. We’ll negotiate with them. But we don’t take orders. Alkalurops takes care of itself, and The Republic had better be able to show how it can help us do a better job of that. Unless they can, thank you very much, but they can ride back out on the DropShip they rode in on.”
That got another round of cheers.
Grace only had to make a few raps with the gavel to get silence the next time. “But taking care of ourselves means we’ll need to defend ourselves. For that, we need more full-time troops than Lieutenant Hicks and the other gallant members of our Constabulary. Our militia will also need a commander. For that position, I offer you a man who has fought at my side with no questions, no qualms and never a lack of courage. I give you Benjork Lone Cat.”
Grace did not even try to gavel the room to silence for a long five minutes. Ben called all of the surviving Mech Warriors forward. Old Sven and George Stillwell accepted the crowd’s thanks with a nod and a wave. Betsy gave Ben a kiss, and Victoria even suffered Danny to put an arm around her shoulder. Syn sashayed forward. Sadly for Grace, she showed no ill effects from her ride in the victory parade draped over the hood of a truck.
But saddest of all was that Sean could not be resurrected to celebrate what he and so many others had died for.
Grace gave Ben a hug, ignoring the dampness around his eyes that some might mistake for tears. She knew that one raised in the stern discipline of the Nova Cats would never let himself be ruled by emotions.
When Ben waved the room to silence, the people around the table complied. “As a young man, I was given a dream of Clan and Sphere coming together. Not just to share space, but to break down the walls that we let separate each of us. You do not need to know the Clans very well to know that such a dream is anathema for many. I took the name Lone Cat when I finally walked away from my Clan. I am a Lone Cat no more. You are my people. Together we need fear no stranger.”
Once more the room erupted. Grace knew there was work to do. She’d examined the files Betsy had taken from Santorini’s computer—as much as time had allowed. He’d gotten help in his crime from off-planet but also from on-planet. Grace needed to have a long talk with the Industrial Trade Group. Some of their management were definitely out of step with Alkalurops taking care of Alkalurops.
When quiet finally came, Grace sighed. “There’s work to be done. I need seven mayors to volunteer to work with the militia. They’ll need to be from towns with big service and repair shops. Maybe some iron mines and carbon fabrication shops, too.”
And they got down to the business of running a planet.
Two days later Grace sat at a table in the spaceport bar. Thick armored windows showed acres of concrete leading to the DropShip landing pads above the blast pits. A metal bulge showed where the Roughriders’ DropShip was making final preparations for launch. At her table sat Ben and Danny, there to see Betsy and Syn off.
The sound of military footsteps brought Grace away from the goings-on out on the field. Loren Hanson came through the bar door, saw her, gave her an informal salute, and marched for their table. “Mind if I join you?” met with no objections, and he settled comfortably in place.
“You’ve been hard to find,” Grace said.
“I’ve been busy loading out a battalion and drafting a report that is bound to be hard reading. The Colonel won’t be happy, but the files clearly show Santorini was out to kill us all. That dinner invite at the parade! I just hope his bond holds up better than his word or this entire operation is way in the red.”
“You’ll excuse me if I’m not too sympathetic,” Grace said.
“I fully understand. It’s my own fault for not wrangling a contract to help you when I had the chance.” That brought a laugh from the table. “There is one thing. We’ve gotten back our captives. Private Godfrey sends his compliments. You know: the sergeant who had that push-up contest with one of your men.”
“He’s a private now?”
“And for a significant while, I suspect. I’ve got about a hundred recruits who’d like to sign on. Does this planet have any objections to us removing recruits from here at this time?”
Grace turned to Ben. He shook his head.
“I’ll wish them well,” Grace said, “even if, after one ride with your topkick, I think them foolish.”
“To each his own poison,” Ben said.
Hanson smiled and seemed in no hurry to leave. He started to talk twice, but thought better of it, then finally opened his mouth. “There are two blanks in my report. Betsy, maybe you can help me with both of them. Who was Santorini working for?”
“Everyone and no one,” Betsy said easily. “If I were Lenzo Computing, I’d take a good hard look at my recruiting practices. They can’t afford too many bum hires like Santorini. Word is that they really are in the market for a new headquarters, and he was assigned to their search. As to how much Landgrave Jasek and the Stormhammers were using him or he was using them, I don’t think Jasek knew. House Steiner is an even vaguer question,” she said with a shrug.
“By the time we killed Santorini, I think he was freelancing something awful. What he said was probably what he thought he was going to do.” Betsy rolled eyes. “As to what he’d have done if he’d lived, I say nothing.”
“You’ll say nothing to whom?” Hanson shot across the table. “Who are you reporting to?”
Betsy laughed—a lovely sound with tinkling bells in it. “I was just your maid. And a nice guest you were—not like some. But they’re dead and I’m alive, so I’m ahead on points.”
“Let me see,” said Danny. “Jasek is in revolt against both The Republic and his pappy on Skye. He’s come out for House Steiner. Now, who wouldn’t want a Steiner base this deep in The Republic? Certainly House Davion and MI6 would be interested. Interested enough to send a Rabid Fox to sniff around?” he asked, innocently as a babe.
“If I were one of those foxy types, I’d have to kill all of you for blowing my cover, but I could also be a Ghost Knight for The Republic, concerned about this fine planet of yours. But most likely I’m a poor girl that’s pissed off too many bosses and spends too much of her life looking for her next job,” Betsy said as she stood and curtsied.
“Are you as confused I am?” Grace said.
“Nothing she said was intended to inform,” Ben agreed.
“Look at it this way,” Betsy said, signaling Syn to abandon her drink. “If you let this line of talk die a natural death, you can go about your business. I can go about mine. And someday, when you least expect it, you may find me at your elbow offering a helping hand.”
“Not an offer I’d pass up,” Hanson said, “and speaking of passing, it’s time for me to board.”
“I’ll follow you out,” Betsy said. Steel blinds clanged shut over the bar’s windows, signaling the arrival or departure of a DropShip. Syn left with L. J. and Betsy.
“So that’s that?” Grace said, standing.
“That is not to be denigrated,” Ben said. “We won our battle. This land is free. And we have an IOU from a woman of mystery. Not bad for a month’s work.”
“No,” Grace said, “not bad.”