Star Risk - 03 The Doublecross Program (26 page)

Wahfer had been getting entirely too much attention on the holos of late.

Von Baldur, feeling like a very grand admiral, took Grok off III and transferred him to the Pride.

He put a pair of Redon Spada's scouts near each standard nav point in the VI system, figuring that the Shaoki were as likely to be as lazy as the Khelat when battle was met.

He was right.

One of Spada's p-boats reported a steady stream of ships pouring out of N-space. They weren't coming out in any sort of coherent formation.

This had to be the Great Fleet of the Shaoki.

Von Baldur had figured that, too.

Given the fairly high degree of incompetency/inexperience Star Risk had witnessed when they were on the Shaoki payroll, he didn't figure it was likely the Shaoki Council would fly tight formation and chance collisions.

The Shaoki paid no attention to the small p-boats skittering for shelter, but concentrated on their battle formations.

Von Baldur had more than enough time to position Wahfer's cruisers above the Shaoki and send for Khelat reinforcements. He was careful, in com, to praise the king's intelligence and masterly strategic abilities in allowing von Baldur to lurk.

He thought, as he watched the Shaoki move toward III, they were almost stately, even though they were hurtling forward at several times light speed.

If he had a battleship�and he did�the Shaoki could move in a stately manner� if Fleet Admiral von Baldur determined it was.

He felt like he was Nelson at Trafalgar� Togo at Tsushima� Nhrumah at Deneb Four.

But he didn't let himself get ego driven into a direct confrontation.

Von Baldur sent Wahfer down in a bounce attack. That caused several squadrons to hive off.

Friedrich took the Pride, escorted by a dozen destroyers, in to mop up on the stragglers, then jumped well before Shaoki heavies could complicate the issue.

About the time he came out of N-space, the Khelat fleet had arrived.

It was a swarming m�e.

Inchcape wanted to get in on the action; von Baldur forbade it.

"There'll be enough blood to drink in a few hours," he told her.

There was.

The Shaoki command broke, ordered "sauve qui peut," and, obediently, every man took off for himself.

At that point, von Baldur ordered his destroyers and patrol boats into action.

They assyrianed the fold, holding themselves to one missile, one target, and if that didn't get him, the next ship would.

It was the only real victory of the VI/III battle.

"As long as those fools upstairs are dancing about," Goodnight said, "what do you think of us doing our share for the war effort and all?"

"Good," Riss said. "Let's get this nonsense over with. I'll need to soak for a week to get the dirt off my dirt."

Riss's regiment went forward the next dawn, and Goodnight's storm troops swept on the remaining outpost's flanks.

That battle was over within the day, hardly a crushing victory, but, like infantry battles, one trudging step forward.

By rights, the Maulers at least, trapped in their hopeless valley, should have surrendered.

But they didn't.

Riss, cursing King Saleph's trigger-happy goons, took one medium lifter and a driver, after plastering the lifter with white plas banners front, rear, and dangling from the autocannon.

She hoped the Maulers would think kindly of her.

If she were in their position, after the murders, she might not have.

And she really hoped she was closing on a Mauler, not a Shaoki, position. She had no idea what they might do, considering the defeat going on overhead.

�Casting, on the standard emergency frequency, that she came in peace, she told the pilot to ease the lifter forward.

No one answered her. But no one opened up on her, either.

Two well-camouflaged chainguns swiveled to cover her, and then the emergency frequency came alive.

"Far enough. Ground it."

She told the driver to obey.

"One person out, and advance."

Riss almost grinned. This was one of the formal dances done by every military since spears went out of fashion.

She obeyed.

There was no blaster at her waist, for the first time in many weeks, and she felt naked. She didn't think about her lack of grenades or even a hideout gun.

Two soldiers came out, keeping out of the chain-guns' line of fire, checked her for weapons or transmitting gear beside her suit com, and then covered her faceplate with something opaque.

Fingers fumbled at her belt, turned her suit radar off, led her forward.

She felt smoothness under her boots, heard a lock door open, close, and the lock cycle.

Riss was led forward, around a corner, another corner, and a third. She assumed this was misdirection.

A �cast came on the emergency frequency: "You can doff your helmet now."

She obeyed.

The first thing that hit her was the smell.

Riss thought she managed to cover her reaction.

She thought she, and her men, were in sad shape, which they were. But facing her were two women and a man who looked like they'd been dragged, sideways, through the bowels of hell.

The woman, in front, had a plas bandage on one cheek.

"You are?" she demanded.

"M'chel Riss," M'chel said. "Star Risk, limited."

"You want?"

"You�if you're with the Maulers�to surrender."

"After what they did to our boys," one of the men said bitterly, "what chance do we have."

It wasn't a question.

"Come on," Riss said. "Mercenaries don't fight� unless they have to. I'll give you my own�and Star Risk's�guarantee. Nothing will happen to you. Hell, if you want, you can even keep your personal blasters."

The woman stayed expressionless.

"Put her in that chamber," she ordered.

One of the men obeyed.

Riss didn't wait long. This time, she was escorted out as if she wasn't a prisoner.

"You have a good reputation," the woman said. "If any of us do." She smiled, a wintry expression.

"I'm Malleus," she said. "We did a fast check� And I remember you actually let Mik Hore walk after he tried to doublecross you."

"We're sentimental," Riss said.

The woman laughed, not humorously.

"And there's one of us�a man named Erm�who spoke well of you."

Riss didn't remember him.

"All right," Malleus said. "We're yours. We're not stupid enough to ask for conditions. Other than our lives."

"You'll have them," Riss said. "Take your personal gear, and leave everything else."

Malleus nodded.

"We'll have a transport�or two�down here," Riss continued. "Tomorrow, if you want."

"We won't need more than one," the man who'd spoken before said.

Malleus's face twisted, then she regained control.

"By nightfall tomorrow," she said.

"I'll need to get on the com," Riss said.

Friedrich von Baldur brought a transport down, escorted by the Pride, and two destroyers.

The Malleus Maulers, silent, sullen, and exhausted, filed aboard the transport.

Riss stood beside her lifter, not feeling any particular sense of victory.

When the last mercenary had boarded, one of the two chainguns that had greeted her suddenly elevated to vertical. Everyone jumped, but the gun made no further movement.

Two people in suits came out of a lock.

Riss went to them. She saw, through the faceplate, one was Malleus.

"You keep your bargains," the woman said.

"We do." Riss said nothing about the lack of trust, pretty sure if the situation was reversed she would've done something similar and been the last man out, with a gun. At least, she hoped she would have had the courage.

Malleus nodded, and without saying anything else, went up the transport's ramp, into the lock.

Moments later, it lifted away.

***

With about half of the final base now unmanned, the Shaoki soldiers began surrendering en masse.

Grinning Khelat accepted their surrender.

Riss, watching, thought their faces looked like dogs in a fowl run.

"You did not have my permission to treat the foreign soldiers as you did," King Saleph said, keeping his temper under control.

"What would you have done, Your Highness?" von Baldur said.

"Treat them as the criminals�the murderers�they are," he said. "Just as I shall treat the Shaoki, now that they have begun surrendering. I will set up prison planets where these fools can expiate their crimes."

Von Baldur nodded curtly, cut the com.

"Goddamnit," he complained to Goodnight, who was also on the bridge. "I cannot save everyone."

The two of them stared at each other, both dumb with fatigue.

And the battle for Shaoki VI/III was over.

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FORTY-FIVE � ^ � The troops stumbled back to their bases, were peeled out of their suits, and collapsed.

Even the mercenaries took one look at the parade field and exercise yards, said stuff it, later for getting back in shape, had a couple of drinks, were besotted and asleep.

Star Risk, so tired they could cry, did everyone a favor and hired civilian contractors to launder or burn the suits the infantry had worn.

Then, having done their bit, they thought, to prove the imperviousness of leaders, they died as well.

Everyone knew that, with Shaoki VI/III conquered, the next step would be the invasion of the capital, Irdis.

And no one wanted to think about that, because it was guaranteed to be twice the bloodbath they'd just been through.

Eventually, Riss woke up, took a very long bath, looked at her hair, and shuddered.

That would come before anything military. She found a salon, and had her hair cut very, very short.

Style comes second to dirt in a prolonged campaign.

She treated herself�of course, at the Khelat's expense�to a full massage and facial. Then she found a boutique and treated herself to some new outfits.

Dressed, she considered herself in a mirror, and decided while she still looked like the ravages of hell, in her opinion, she wouldn't frighten small boys and dogs to death.

Feeling a bit cheerier, and determined to surround herself with many calories, healthy ones that didn't cause pimples, she headed for the Star Risk barracks.

Jasmine was there, looking impossibly unscathed. Her hair was also trimmed very close.

"I hate you, woman," M'chel managed.

Jasmine grinned, preened.

"Buzz Goodnight," King said. "He wants to confer. We seem to have a problem."

Riss obeyed.

Both Chas and Grok answered the call.

Friedrich drifted in from his own quarters.

"We have," Goodnight announced, "not just a problem, but a very large problem. We seem to have a case of journalists."

"So?" Riss said. Unlike many soldiers, she didn't care about the media one way or another until she'd decided whether or not they were going to get in the way.

"Yes," Goodnight said with a scowl. Clearly, he was with the military majority.

"A team of four, representing themselves as freelancers, working for some independent outfit I've never heard of has shown up," Goodnight said.

"I figured they wanted to cover the blood and slaughter, which is always marketable, as long as the consumers' blood isn't what's leaking.

"But they didn't show any sign of wanting to tour VI/III, or more than token coverage of how the Khelat forces are fighting for freedom, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

"What they were interested in, quite intensely, is the main plantations, which, according to Prince Barab, are just coming into flower."

"That's� odd," Friedrich said.

"Certainly is," Goodnight said. He bowed to Grok.

"Your cue, sirrah."

"Chas brought me in," the alien said, "because these journalists were sending their reports back into Alliance territory coded."

"That's very strange," Riss said. "Never heard of that, although maybe, if there's a couple-three fighting for the same story� which there doesn't seem to be."

"No," Grok agreed. "Even more unusual is that the code they are using�which I haven't broken as yet�is a three/five/three, sprinkled with two-character groups."

Jasmine's eyes went wide. "That's the pattern Cerberus Systems likes."

"Indeed it is," Grok said. "And I can add that Cerberus, during the time that I was with them, frequently used journalists for their cover IDs."

"So why is Cerberus lurking around Khelat?" M'chel said.

"I do not know," von Baldur said. "But always assuming Cerberus is never up to any good, especially as far as we are concerned, I think we should have them chased back where they came from."

"I can take care of that," Riss said. "Prince Wahfer wants to talk to me in the worst way. Which means he wants something. And a favor for a favor� hmmm. As long as I don't have to go to bed with the bastard."

"If you will take care of these reporters," Friedrich said, "preferably without us having to show our faces, I shall do some inquiring with our pet lobbyist and ask who on Earth�or in the Alliance�has the curiosity bug."

The dining place Wahfer chose was quiet, romantic, but most of all, secluded.

Riss wondered if Wahfer had a jealous wife, who was more closely connected to King Saleph than the Prince.

Or maybe wives.

She knew little of the social customs of the Khelat, hadn't particularly wanted to learn.

Riss told Wahfer about the journalists.

He said they were easily taken care of, and would be deported tomorrow. They would never know that Star Risk was behind their being declared persona non grata.

She was not to worry�and he actually used the hoary phrase�her pretty little head about it.

Riss hid her wince, and asked how she could return the favor.

Wahfer grew kittenish. Riss couldn't look under the tablecloth to see if he was digging his toe into the carpet.

"I was not particularly pleased," he obliqued, "with the way the most recent battle was conducted, in spite of our success."