And then the real surprises began.
Both Sten and Alex expected various medals. Not because they necessarily thought they had done anything particularly heroic in captivity, except getting the clot out of it—for which accomplishment they would have cheerfully accepted free alk for the rest of their lifetime instead of a gong—but because when any war got nasty, the survivors tended to collect bits of tin as they survived.
Those they received.
Both of them expected promotions—and had theorized on the long run back whether they would be kicked up one or more grades.
Those they did not receive—yet.
Their orders were quite similar:
STEN (NI) (WITHHELD) Ordered to (WITHHELD) following (WITHHELD) leave time, authorized travel to (WITHHELD). Upon return to duty, you will report to (WITHHELD) for further orders. Conditions of reporting for further duty will be communicated to you by (WITHHELD) date.
KILGOUR, ALEX (WITHHELD) Ordered to (WITHHELD) following (WITHHELD) leave time, authorized travel to planet of EDINBURGH and other systems as desired. Upon return to duty, you will report to (WITHHELD) for further orders. Conditions of reporting for further duty will be communicated to you by (WITHHELD) date.
Sten and Alex looked at each other. Somebody up there had plans for their future. Probability: unpleasant. But there was little that could be done about it short of deserting. And both of them had spent enough time on the run.
The second step was to collect their back pay, which would amount to a small fortune.
One of the few productive pastimes the Tahn POWs had was figuring out how much money they were due and how they would spend it.
The Empire paid its military somewhat differently than had governments of the past. A soldier's paycheck was either given to him in cash on pay period or banked in a civilian bank and allowed to draw whatever interest or noninterest it paid, bank to be determined by individual.
That was not done because of any particular kindness the Emperor felt toward each grunt. There were three very simple reasons that, one drunken evening eons before, the emperor had outlined for Mahoney:
1. This is a capitalist Empire. I think. Therefore, money in circulation is healthier than money sitting in anybody's vault.
2. I understand a lot of things. I can sketch you out, if you're interested, the mathematical correlation of the nine basic forces of the universe. I don't understand economics, and nobody else does, either. Therefore, I ain't gonna get involved.
3. Banks what get my troopies' money are very, very rational people. Which means they do what I clottin' tell them, when I tell them, or else suddenly they're on the "Not Recommended For Military Deposit" list.
And so, when Sten and Alex paraded into the Prime World bank that for years had been favored, for some lost reason, by Mercury Corps and Mantis Section operatives, they expected to be greeted politely, as if they were stockholders.
They did not expect to be ushered into the office of the bank president and informed they were now majority stockholders. And if it would please the gentlemen, now that they were... ahem, available, would they be interested in advising the current members of the board on future investment possibilities?
Sten gurgled.
Kilgour, however, rose to the occasion. He reached for a cheroot—real tobacco, it would appear—from a humidor, struck it on the president's desk, leaving scars across what looked like real wood, and inhaled. He managed to bury the subsequent coughing spasm and called for a printout on both of their accounts.
They were not just well-to-do.
They were rich.
Both of them had significant holdings in the most formidable corporations of the Empire. Plus a percentage in exotic metals. Plus a percentage in war bonds. Plus...
Sten goggled at about page thirty-six of the printout. He was most grateful that the bank president had excused himself.
"Uh... Kilgour. I own a world."
Kilgour was equally bemused. "Ah nae hae thae... but it appears Ah'll hae the richest estate ae Edinburgh. Ah can afford to r'store th' family castle."
"You have a castle?"
"Noo Ah do."
And both of them understood, just as the fawning banker returned with the contents of a certain safety deposit box, which, he said, was to be given to them personally and privately. Again, he withdrew.
They opened the box, found a fiche, and booted it up.
Gypsy Ida's less than conventionally lovely face appeared onscreen.
Ida was a former member of Sten and Alex's Mantis Team. She was a hustler, an investor, and one of the best pilots Sten had ever flown beside.
She had disappeared from the service years before but as she was leaving she had somehow tapped into her ex-teammates' bank accounts and invested, invested, invested—leaving them most comfortable.
The sound cut on: "Y'r clots, you know. Howinhell'd you two ever manage to get captured? Kilgour, you're as dumb as you are fat. Sten, why'd you listen to the clot?
"Anyway.
"I accessed your credits when I heard you were missing. Knew there weren't any Tahn smart enough to waste you on sight, and figured that you'd live.
"Hope now that you're listening to this and it ain't your heirs and assignees and the war's over.
"I started filtering all those credits you had sitting there and took care of you two clots.
"Near as I can figure, there ain't nothing that can go wrong, unless maybe the Emperor surrendered—an' by the way, you got holdings in the Tahn worlds if that happened—that can keep you from being richrich.
"Reason I'm putting this on fiche, instead of bein' there when you see how good care I took care of you, is... aw, drakh, I went and listened to somebody, and, well, they want me to go do something out there somewhere.
"So that's the way it is.
"I guess 'cause I'm dumb I miss the old days."
Ida's image fell silent, and Sten was appalled to see what looked like a tear well up in her eye. Fortunately the image lasted only for a moment, as suddenly the Rom stood, turned, and hoisted her skirt. What looked like two oversize loafs of bread—pan point of view—went onscreen.
And the screen blanked.
"Th' lass still dinnae wear knickers," Alex managed.
Somehow they made the correct noises to the banker and, each clutching a full briefcase that proved, with full details, that he was richrich, went for the closest bar.
A day or so later, after sobering up, they made the correct noises at each other. Sorry to split up, mate, but that's the way the service works. Hell, it's a small world. Maybe we'll get lucky again and get paired.
Sten drank Kilgour aboard the ship headed for the world of Edinburgh and contemplated.
First he wanted a quiet place to figure out where he was going to spend his leave—whatever amount that WITHHELD figure was giving him before something else happened.
Not to mention that planet that he appeared to own. Planet? he thought. Nobody owns a planet. That's disgusting. But maybe he did. If so, he would like to see what his real estate looked like. Preferably with a friend.
He headed for a com and called the police.
Specifically, he called Prime World Homicide and asked for a Lisa Haines. Years earlier, she and Sten had been quite seriously in love before Sten had been reassigned into the maze that took him into the Tahn War and captivity. He sort of hoped, just maybe, she was still solo and remembered him. The copshop advised that yes, a Lisa Haines was still a police person. And that they would accept a message for her. But she was unfortunately not available at the moment.