"Ye nae hae a sliver a' romance in yer bones, lass?"
Ida snorted but didn't even bother to answer.
"We all ken aboot Bet," Alex said.
"Sure," she snapped. "We all know each other's psych profile. Just like I know you mourn for your mother's home-cooked haggis. But that don't mean I have to let your dear old momma join our team."
"Now, dinna be malignin' me mither. Had an arm a' her could stop a tank wi' one blow."
"You know what I mean."
"Ah do. An' y'be wrong. Wrong a' wee lil body cou' be."
"How so?"
"I'ye nae see it, whidny bother a' explain. Ah'll be havin' Sten do it f' me."
Ida snorted again, then grinned. "To hell with it Let's have a beer."
"We don't have a chance," Bet pleaded. "Let's just get out. Off Vulcan. Like we always dreamed."
Sten shook his head.
"I can't. And even if the others let me, I wouldn't. Thoresen—"
"Clot Thoresen!"
"Exactly what I plan to do."
Bet started to tell him that killing Thoresen—even if he could—wouldn't bring his family back. But that was obvious. She sighed. "How can I help?"
"You've been running that gang since I. . .left?"
Bet nodded.
"From what I saw, they're pretty good."
"Not as good as Oron's," she said. "But the best, now. We're armed and not running like Oron did."
"And you have the respect of the other Delinq gangs?"
"Yes."
"Good. I want you to set up a meeting."
"A meeting? What for?"
"Listen, and I'll tell you."
The Delinq chieftains eyed each other warily. Even with Bet's assurances, they were suspicious. The meeting could be a setup for the Sociopatrol—or a takeover.
About fifteen of them were spread around the huge table, muttering to each other and trying not to be impressed by the huge banquet or the luxurious dining room.
The meeting place was a new restaurant scheduled for opening in a day or two. The latest servant bots purred around the room offering the Delinqs delicacies reserved for Execs. Ida had found it after Sten had told her he wanted an impressive meeting place for the gang leaders, someplace that would show them just how powerful the Mantis team was. Ida had first patched into the personnel computer, and ordered all of the prospective restaurant employees to remain on their current jobs. The tap of a few more keys showed restaurant construction seriously delayed because of needed materials. And just to make sure, Sten had a few worker bots put a sign on the main entrance: DANGER. DO NOT ENTER. VACUUM CONDITIONS BEYOND.
Bet was at the head of the table. Beside her sat Sten.
She put a hand up for attention and got it. "Look at us all," she said. "Look at the faces around this table."
Puzzled, they did.
"This is the first time the leaders of every gang have been in one room. Better yet, nobody's cut any throats."
True, some of them thought. But maybe not for long.
"Think about what that means. All of us together. Representing a combined strength of maybe three hundred or four hundred Delinqs."
A stir.
"What's that get us?" a gang chief named Patris snarled.
"Normally," Bet said, "nothing. All of us against the Sociopatrol would mean just a little bit more splatter than usual. Normally."
"So who's talkin' about goin' against the patrol?" asked a gang boss named Flynn.
Bet pointed at Sten. "He is."
The muttering became a loud grumbling.
"This is Sten. You've heard about him. He was with Oron."
Even louder grumblings.
"Sten's been offworld. Off Vulcan. And now he's come back to help us."
Stunned silence. But mostly because of the enormity of the lie.
"You all heard about what happened to my gang?" Bet said.
Nods all around.
"And you heard about what happened to the patrol clots that almost got us?"
Slow nods. Glimmers of what she was getting at. "Sten killed them," Bet said. "All of them. If he wasn't who he says he is, then how could that even be? How could I be here talking to you?"
"She's right," Patris noted. "My best runner saw them cleanin' up the clottin' bodies."
Flynn sneered. "So he's a hero. Big deal. Now, what's he want with us?"
Sten rose. Instant hush.
"It's very simple," he said. "We're gonna take over Vulcan."
The effort to overthrow Vulcan began with a series of what Doc called "gray actions."
"We want to increase the discontent among the Migs," he said. "Then impress on them the vulnerability of the Company."
Doc thought the proposed gray-action incidents his best work yet. Jorgensen thought they were just plain dirty tricks, and what Alex called them was not repeatable, even in his brogue. Only Ida was charmed. She saw infinite possibilities in enriching herself.
"That'll have to wait," Sten warned her.
"For what? I got this computer singin' any song I want."
"Then you found Bravo Project?"
Ida sighed. "Well, almost any song."
Doc glared at her.
"I'll start on the radio broadcasts," she grumped.
Even Doc was impressed with the device she worked out. It took up an entire stateroom aboard the old liner. Basically, it was just a simple radio broadcaster beefed up with enough power circuits to boost Vulcan out of orbit. She rigged it to a Mantis minicomputer and set it to monitoring the Company band that broadcast Mig news and entertainment.
"Flip this switch," she said, "and we're on their band. Anything we say sounds like it's coming from their station."
"You mean like Thoresen does it with Xypacas?" Sten asked.
"A little more subtle than that," Doc broke in. "The idea is to make it sound like it's a Company-approved script."
Incomprehension registered on Sten's face. He waved them away in disgust. "Never mind," Doc said. "I'll work out what we're going to say. You just worry about your end."
Sten and Bet ambled past the factory. They strolled unhurriedly along like two Migs just off-shift and heading for a narcobeer. Several workers came out of the factory and stepped on the slideway beside them.
Sten nudged Bet with an elbow.
"Will you looka that," he said loudly. "That's Bearings Works Twenty-three, ain't it?"
"Yeah," Bet answered. "Sure is. I heard about that place."
Sten shook his head.
"Poor clots. I sure wouldn't wanta work there. Oh, well. Guess the Company's workin' on a cure."
A beefy Mig glared at them. "Cure? Cure for what?"
Sten and Bet casually turned toward him. "Oh, you work there?"
The Mig nodded.
"Sorry," Bet said. "Never mind."
The beefy Mig and his buddies pushed over to them. "Never mind what?"
Sten and Bet appeared a little nervous. "Say," Sten said. "Not so close, if you don't mind. No offense."
"What'sa matter with you? Waddya mean not so close? We got the crawlin' crud or somethin'?"
Bet tugged at Sten. "Let's get out of here. We don't want any trouble."
Sten started away, then stopped. "Somebody's gotta tell them," he said to Bet. He turned back to the puzzled Migs. "We work at the Mig Health Center."
"So?"
"So we been gettin' some real strange cases from that place." He pointed at the factory the men just left.
"What kinda cases?"
"Not sure," Bet said. "Has somethin' to do with the lubricants you use."
The Migs stiffened. "What's wrong with 'em?" the beefy man asked.
"Can't tell. Seems to be some kind of virus. Hits only males."
"What's it do to them?"
Sten shrugged. "Let's just say, they ain't been havin' much of a sex life lately."