Which was another question entirely, to examine some other time. “Once the ship steadies on 1G, want to go for a run?”
“I’m in. And maybe I can rescue Sean from Danny’s clutches for some solid physical training. If Sean’s not careful, Danny will give him an education in all the wrong things.”
An hour later Grace and Victoria went running. Ben was also out in gym shorts and a towel. Good-looking man, Grace allowed. George Stillwell joined them, and Grace showed them aft to a trail among the huge containers.
The second day’s run was with Ben alone. The man set a fast pace, but not so quick that Grace couldn’t ask about Victoria. “Paths do not always lead where they should,” the albino said. “Victoria is a superb ’Mech handler. An expert eye for the right target at the essential moment. However, she is not one to socialize. Danny told me that she once attended a dinner and kept the same glass of scotch in her hand all evening—untouched. She does not drink, nor does she carouse. While she does not judge those who do, I know that Danny feels the hot breath of guilt every time he sees her. Their banter is light, but there is true steel at the heart of it. With things the way they were before the HPG went down, that was enough to put Victoria Birdwell on the outside looking in.”
That answered, Grace went on to ask the questions her own study of ’Mech warfare on the trip to Galatea had left unanswered. Ben shared lunch with her, and the others quickly joined them.
As days and weeks went by, they answered Grace’s questions, but raised two new ones for every one they answered. And those two raised four more questions that usually resulted in three more answers and the fourth being met with a shrug. But since that fourth could easily kill you, Grace usually pushed the matter until the warriors glanced around the table and admitted there was no answer to it. You accepted it as part of the job or left for other employment.
“Are there no situations in mining that will kill you in a flash and do not yield to any of the safety precautions you can imagine?” Ben said by way of conclusion.
Grace pursed her lips at that. Certainly hard-rock mining underground could go from fine to hell in a flash if you tapped into an unforeseen gas pocket or water sump. “Yes, there are some things you just accept,” she admitted.
“And there are things we leave to luck. When your luck runs out, it is just gone.”
“Of course, a good man will be running right along with it,” Danny said with a laugh, as he raised an imaginary mug in salute.
Grace continued her education, even during runs. One day she tapped George for a jog. “Isn’t maneuver warfare pretty cut-and-dried?” she asked. “I’ve read the book the Twenty-first Centauri wrote on maneuver warfare. It says where to put your tanks and your infantry—and the tactics look pretty hard to beat, either in attack or defense. What does that leave a commander like you to do?”
George chuckled as he jogged along. “Everything, my dear mayor. Everything.” He paused to let that sink in, then went on. “If you write the book, everyone who pays good money to buy it must consider you the expert. Is that the way it is in mining?”
“Yes,” Grace said, dodging around a large-diameter pipe.
“Well, if you read the book and I read the book, who wins when we both apply the book?”
Grace didn’t see an answer to that question. “In mining, I apply the book’s answer and the minerals flow,” she said.
“But minerals don’t have the nasty habit of shooting back.”
Grace laughed. “Not the last time I got to do any mining.”
“And they aren’t likely to develop that tendency the next time, but my opposition does so rather regularly. I want to be where I can shoot at him before he can shoot at me. If he studiously applies the book answer, I know exactly where he’ll be at any given time. If I don’t follow the book, he won’t know where I am. Easier to shoot at him and not get shot at.”
“Assuming you are smarter than the book,” Grace pointed out.
“Assuming my boss is willing to admit that there is such a thing as being smarter than the Twenty-first Centauri’s book. That’s why I’m working for you, if you were curious. The Kell Hounds like to win. The present CO can’t conceive of a better way to win than by applying the book. So long as he goes up against idiots who haven’t read the book—and there are a lot just now—he wins. Even if he fights someone who’s read the book, he won’t do worse than a tie, which most clients find okay. Is a tie okay by you?”
“That’s what I got last time. Cost Alkalurops good people and good ’Mechs. Probably would have lost more if they’d had a bigger ship. Next time, I want to win.”
“Glad to be working for you,” George said, reaching across to shake her hand without missing a step in his jog.
The JumpShip Off We Go was done charging, so there was no delay getting to Alkalurops. A few days later Grace learned more than she wanted about Syn Bakai when she was called to the captain’s cabin at two in the morning. While the MechWarrior sat off to one side, buffing her nails and wearing nothing but underwear that covered little and interfered with the view even less, the captain fixed Grace with a gimlet eye.
“I don’t much care for passengers sleeping with my crew. It’s bad for the morale of thems what get left out, though your woman here doesn’t seem to have missed many. What I will not allow is a passenger dealing herself into the crew’s poker game and concealing extra cards on her person. That is hazardous to a player’s life. The Line takes a dim view on the odd passenger showing up suddenly dead. You paid for her ticket. You keep her out of my hair for the rest of this run.”
Grace escorted Syn back to the room she shared with Betsy Ross. “You will stay in passenger country or I will have Ben and Victoria space you, you understand me?”
“Get a sense of humor, Mayor. Those swabbies were just having a little fun feeling me up.”
“And finding cards,” Grace said, holding up the four aces the captain had given her to back up his claims. Slowly Grace tore them in half and gave them to Syn. “I don’t play poker, Syn. I can’t bluff worth beans, but cross me—cause us trouble before you prove you’re worth the effort—and I’ll see you dead.”
Syn said nothing more as she slipped into her cabin. Back in her own, Grace asked Victoria what unit Syn was from.
“Bannson’s Raiders. If you want a guess from me, they’re the likeliest group to have taken a raiding contract. If you’ve got a snarling enemy in front of you and a Bannson’s Raider behind you, turn around, or at least keep one hand on your wallet.”
“Syn should have fit right in.”
“Too true. I understand she was too much even for them. But I once saw her in a tournament. She had her ’Mech dancing on a wall not twenty centimeters wide. You’ll want her. Either to fight for you or to slit her throat, but you’ll want her.”
Only Betsy remained an enigma to Grace as they approached their landing on Alkalurops. No question that the woman knew her infantry tactics inside and out. Her grasp of large-formations tactics left Sean silent in his seat, taking notes, and George nodding quietly. What she knew about small-scale, special-ops-type jobs left Grace shaking her head. She’d followed the news from several planets along the border of House Davion that had suddenly changed governors over the last several years. Betsy tended to let drop a bit of this and some of that to the point that Grace was pretty sure the woman had been involved in some way. What was someone like that doing looking for a job? Grace considered asking the woman if she had big enemies that Grace should know about, but somehow the topic never came up. After Betsy showed them some hand-to-hand tricks that left Jobe shaking his head and rubbing his throat where she could have killed him, Grace made a mental note to stay on Betsy’s good side.