“Show her in.” Reza had sensed the young woman approaching the encampment some time ago.
Hawthorne only nodded, registering no shock or curiosity that Reza knew it was a woman who had come to visit them. He had long ago learned that his commander’s seeming lack of curiosity about elaborating information did not mean he was not interested; it was just that somehow he already knew. “Yes, sir.”
As Hawthorne relayed the orders, Reza put his uniform on over the silken black Kreelan garb he had worn every day of his adult life, the collar of his heritage and standing among humanity’s enemy prominent above the neckline of his battle dress uniform. Carefully positioning the ancient dagger at his side, he went out into the pale yellow light of the command post.
“You don’t understand, senator,” Belisle said urgently, desperately restraining his growing fury as he spoke to the life-size holographic image of Senator Borge. “This man destroyed one of the capital city’s landmarks, and threatened the entire colony with destruction if we didn’t deal with him.”
Borge’s face took on a fatherly look that Belisle found maddeningly patronizing. “Karl, Karl, please, calm down. It is not that I doubt you, old friend. It is just that I find it difficult to believe that the people I dispatched to Erlang would do such a thing. The orders I laid down were very specific, and the command personnel chosen were, shall we say, of the highest reliability. I can only assume that there was a breakdown somewhere in the military chain. Please, rest assured that your interests are my interests, and I’ll do everything in my power to rectify the situation.”
Belisle nodded. Borge was a man of his word, as well he should be. He had profited enough from Erlang’s riches. “What do you intend to do, then?”
“Well, first I need to know the unit that’s causing you all the trouble, so I can track down where things went wrong and fix the problem.” He smiled like a wolf, except wolves did not smile with malevolence. “And if you could provide me the name of the officer in charge, I can… effect a change in his career development profile, as it were.”
“A summary court-martial and execution would be nice,” Belisle muttered.
“That could be arranged, I suppose. Now, who are these people?” Borge’s effigy motioned for someone to take a note.
“I don’t know what unit it is. They never bothered to tell me.” His mouth puckered momentarily in a sudden fit of anger, then he went on, “But the officer in charge is a Marine captain by the name of Gard. I don’t know his first name.”
For a moment, Borge did not speak, but his eyes widened perceptibly. “You said ‘Gard?’ Did he have long, braided hair and a Kreelan collar around his neck?”
Belisle thought about that a minute. “Yes,” he said, suddenly feeling like an idiot. He had been so angry when Gard arrived that he had not noticed any obvious oddities. Perhaps because of the helmet he had been wearing? “Yes, by the Lord of All, he does. How in the devil did you know?”
“Never mind,” Borge said grimly. “Karl, this man is extremely dangerous to our plans, and it is only the worst of luck that put him in charge of the Marine contingent I ordered to help you. I’ll be sending help immediately. In the meantime, do whatever you have to do to cooperate with him. Make whatever concessions are necessary.”
“But that would mean–”
“Just do it, Karl. Remember that it is only for as long as it takes for me to repair this misfortune. Any compromises you make can be undone easily enough. Am I right?”
Belisle thought about it a moment. Giving in to the Mallorys would not be an easy thing, even for a short time. On the other hand, if he agreed to a “compromise,” he just might be able to lure their leaders out into the open and finish them off for good, an opportunity he had missed only by a hair five years ago. His mouth curled into a satisfied smile.
“Yes, of course, Senator,” he said. “And this may give me the opportunity to finish some other long overdue… housecleaning.”
“Good. I’ll have someone on this right away, and they will be in touch with you regarding the plans as soon as they are in motion.” Borge’s projected face nodded once in farewell, then the image faded into random sparks and disappeared.
His spirits lifted, Belisle went to bed and his waiting mistress.
“Please, sit down,” Reza told the young woman standing between a pair of his Marines who, while no taller than she, appeared enormous beside her in their combat gear. He nodded to them, and they quickly and silently left the command post.
“Thank you, captain,” Enya said, having difficulty taking her eyes off him. He was so different from what she had expected. A tall man, lithe and strong, his body was well-muscled, yet sinewy like a cat’s. He would not have seemed that much different from many in his company were it not for an alienness that clung to him. She saw the collar around his neck and his long braided black hair, but was taken most with the jade green eyes that seemed to swirl with color in the dim lamplight. Groping for the chair that was poised across the table from where Reza stood, she nearly tripped and fell as she sat down.
“You have nothing to fear here,” he told her, as he sat down on another of the simple folding field chairs. “You have come representing the Mallorys.” It was not a question.
Enya could only nod. Having seen the arsenal that lay in this camp, and now the quiet power in this man’s eyes, she suddenly understood the seriousness of what she was undertaking. If these people were to turn on hers, no Mallory would ever again know freedom. The fear that welled up within her at the thought only served to fuel her determination: she must not fail.
“Yes,” she said, taking a deep breath and staring Reza right in the eye, which took much more willpower than she had imagined it might. Not to look at him, but to occasionally look away. “I am Enya Terragion, a member of the Mallory Party Committee. I am empowered to speak with you on their behalf.”
“You are the ones who sought to ambush my troops at the spaceport?” Reza asked, curious to know if she would speak the truth. If she did not…
Enya did not hesitate. “Yes. We feared that you had come to further oppress us, and the Committee decided to try and defeat you before you could add your firepower to that of the Territorial Army.”
She heard a quiet snort off to one side, and turned to see a hulking black man who looked quick as a tiger, shaking his head as he turned back to whatever he had been doing.
“I believe Mister Hawthorne is saying that you were very… fortunate, Enya Terragion,” Reza said, “that such an incident was avoided.”
Enya nodded somberly. “We realized that today, when you destroyed the mountain. All of our people near the spaceport would have been killed, would they not?”
“If not all, probably most,” Reza said simply. It was a fact beyond dispute. “I am glad things turned out differently.” He smiled. With his eyes.
Enya blinked, trying to break the mesmerizing hold he seemed to have on her. “What do you intend to do here on Erlang?” she asked quietly. “Will you help Belisle herd us into the mines?”
“That depends on you,” Reza said as Zevon, as if on cue, poured coffee for Enya. Suspicious that it was a trick, she only looked at it. Reza reached over and took a sip to prove it was safe, forcing the bitter liquid down his throat. He had always hated coffee. He set the cup back down on the table.
“My orders,” he said through the bitter aftertaste, “are to ensure that the flow of minerals from the mines to Confederation shipyards continues without interruption. As I am sure you are aware, Erlang is virtually irreplaceable to the shipyards in this sector.” He looked at her pointedly. “Those are my orders. How I carry them out is largely up to President Belisle… and you.”