COORDINATION...
And Sten shut down the terminal. "Coordination" on this cobbled-together mess, he thought. First I'm going to take a bunch of Parrel's cholesterol-heavy traders, get them to take us into the heart of the Jann empire. Then I'll manage to offload my surly thugs onto the Bhor lighters, somehow without having a grand melee between the Bhor, my mercs, and Mathias' fanatics.
If I get away with all that, then I suicide-dive the clottin' freighter—which I still haven't seen—right into the middle of this bloody great hangar, somehow live through the crash, somehow come out shooting, and somehow hang on and be an active menance for the Jann until Parral's ships heave down to pick all of us up.
This will not work, Sten, my friend, his mind told him. Of course it won't. You got any better ideas?
Go see what Sofia's doing, his mind suggested. And, since Sten couldn't find any argument with that, he put the security lock on the computer and headed for a grav-sled and Parrel's mansion.
Maybe I'll come up with something better after a few hours lurking in her grotto.
CHAPTER THIRTY
PARRAL SCROLLED THROUGH Sten's latest reports. Everything was going exactly as the man had promised. The series of lightning raids had the Jann reeling. And now the young colonel was preparing for the master stroke: a daring attack to gut the Jann's resolve to continue the war itself.
Parral chuckled to himself. Yes, he thought, Sten had proven to be a remarkable investment. Of course, Parral didn't believe for a minute that the man would honor his entire contract.
The young fool. Doesn't he realize I know that when the final battle is won, Sten will do exactly what I would: seize the cluster for myself?
It was a final move, Parral had to admit, that any businessman would admire.
He sighed. Too bad. He was really beginning to like the man.
Parral keyed up the analyses his spies had put together and checked them once to see if any details had been omitted, any scenario untried.
No, there would be only one possible solution to Sten's forthcoming challenge. He and his mercenaries would all have to die. And as for Mathias? Another misfortune of the business of war.
Parral also congratulated himself for making sure there could be no possible threat from the Jann—or whatever would remain of them after the final raid. He thought fondly of the powerful armored combat vehicles he had secretly purchased and turned over to his own men. They could crush any attack from any source.
Parral flicked off the computer, pleased with himself. Then he poured a glass of wine and toasted Sten and the men who were about to win him a new empire.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
STEN THOUGHT THE freighter gave ugly a bad name.
Pritchard-class freighters were one of those answers to a question no one had asked. Some bright lad, about one hundred years earlier, had decided there was a need for a low-speed, high-efficiency deep-space freighter that also had atmospheric-entry capabilities.
The designer must've ignored the existence of planetary lighters, high-speed atmo-ships for the more luxurious or important cargoes, and the general continual bankruptcy-in-being of any intrasystem freighter company.
The Pritchard-class ships were well designed to be exactly what the design specs stated, so well that it was nearly impossible to modify them. Therefore, they trickled down from large-line service to small-line service to system-service to, most often, the boneyard.
This particular example—the Atherston—had cost somewhat less than an equivalent mass of scrap steel.
The Bhor had towed the ship to a berth in a secluded part of Nebta's massive equatorial landing ground, and Parral's skilled shipwrights and Bhor craftsmen, directed by Vosberh, had gone to work.
The Atherston's looks hadn't been improved any by the modifications. Originally the ship had a lift-off nose-cone and drop-ramps for Roll On, Roll Off planetary cargo delivery.
The nose had been solidly filled with reinforced ferroconcrete, as had fifty meters of the forward area, so that the drop-ramps were now barely wide enough for troops to exit in double column. The command capsule had been given a solid-steel bubble with tiny vision slits, and the bubble was reinforced with webbed strutting. And finally, just to destroy whatever aesthetic values the tubby rustbucket had, two Yukawa drive units were position-welded and then cast directly to either side of the ship's midsection. Steering jets made an anenome-blossom just behind the nosecone.
"Beauty, isn't it, sir," Vosberh said briskly. Sten repressed a shudder.
"Best design for a suicide-bomber I've ever seen," Vosberh went on. "I figure that you'll have a seventy-thirty chance when you crash into that plant."
"Which way?" Sten asked.
"You pick." Vosberh smiled. Then he turned serious.
"By the way, Colonel. Two private questions?"
"GA, Major."
"One. Assuming that you, uh, miss, and by some misfortune pass on to that Great Recruiting Hall in the Sky, who have you picked as a command replacement?"
Sten also smiled. "Since both you and Ffillips will be grounding with me on the Aiherston, isn't that a pointless question?"
"Not at all, Colonel Sten. You see—a little secret I've kept from you—I believe I am immortal."
"Ugh," Sten said.
"So the question is very important to me. Under no circumstances shall I turn over command of my people to Ffillips. She is arrogant, spit-and-polish, underbrained..." and
Vosberh ran momentarily short on insults.
"I would assume that Ffillips feels about the same toward you. Major."
"Probably."
"I will take your first question under advisement. Second question. Major?"
"This raid on Urich. Is there any chance it will end the war?"
"Negative, Major. We'll still have scattered Jann to mop up—and Ingild to deal with. Why?"
"I warned you once, Colonel.'The minute that Parral or that stupid puppet prophet he's running get the idea they're winning..." Vosberh drew a thumb across his throat.
"Mercenaries," he went on, "in case you haven't learned, are always easier to pay off with steel to the throat instead of credits in the purse."
"Good thought, Major. Answer—as I said. This war has not even begun."