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him in the first place, Falkenberg made such a fuss about it that he was
dismissed for insubordination."
"Can you trust him, then?" Laura asked. "His men may be the only thing keeping
you alive - "
"I know. And you, and Jimmy, and Christie, and Peter. ... I asked Boris that,
and he said there's no better man available. You can't hire CD men from active
duty. Boris recommends him highly. Says troops love him, he's a brilliant
tactician, has experience in troop command and staff work as well - "
"Sounds like quite a catch."
"Yes. But Laura, if he's all that valuable, why did they boot him out? My God,
it all sounds so trivial - "
The interphone buzzed, and Hamner answered it absently. It was the butler to
announce that his car and driver were waiting. "I'll be late, sweetheart.
Don't wait up for me. But you might think about it ... I swear Falkenberg is
the key to something, and I wish I knew what."
"Do you like him?" Laura asked.
"He isn't a man who tries to be liked."
"I asked if you like him."
"Yes. And there's no reason to. I like him, but can I trust him?"
As he went out he thought about that. Could he trust Falkenberg? With Laura's
life ... and the kids . . . and for that matter, with a whole planet that
seemed headed for hell and no way out.
The troops were camped in an orderly square. Earth ramparts had been thrown up
around the perimeter, and the tents were pitched in lines that might have been
laid with a transit.
The equipment was scrubbed and polished, blanket rolls were tight, each item
in the same place inside the two-man tents . . . but the men were milling
about, shouting, gambling openly in front of the campfires. There were plenty
of bottles in evidence even from the outer gates.
"Halt! Who's there?"
Hamner started. The car had stopped at the barricaded gate, but Hamner hadn't
seen the sentry.
This was his first visit to the camp at night, and he was edgy. "Vice
President Hamner," he answered.
A strong light played on his face from the opposite side of the car. Two
sentries, then, and both invisible until he'd come on them. "Good evening,
sir," the first sentry said. "I'll pass the word you're here."
He raised a small communicator to his lips. "Corporal of the Guard. Post
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Number Five." Then he shouted the same thing, the call ringing clear in the
night. A few heads around campfires turned toward the gate, then went back to
their other activities.
Hamner was escorted across the camp to officers' row. The huts and tent stood
across a wide parade ground from the densely packed company streets of the
troops and had their own guards.
Over in the company area the men were singing, and Hamner paused to listen.
"I've a head like a concertina, and I think I'm ready to die, and I'm here in
the clink for a thundrin' drink and blacking the Corporal's eye, With another
man's cloak underneath of my head and a beautiful view of the yard, it's the
crapaud for me, and no more System D, I was Drunk and Resistin' the Guard!
Mad drunk and resistin' the guard!
It's the crapaud for me, and no more System D, I was Drunk and Resistin' the
Guard."
Falkenberg came out of his hut. "Good evening, sir. What brings you here?"
I'll just bet you'd like to know, Hamner thought. "I have a few things to
discuss with you, Colonel. About the organization of the constabulary."
"Certainly." Falkenberg was crisp and seemed slightly nervous. Hamner wondered
if he were drunk. "Shall we go to the Mess?" Falkenberg asked. "More
comfortable there, and I haven't got my quarters made up for visitors."
Or you've got something here I shouldn't see, George thought. Something or
someone. Local girl? What difference does it make? God, I wish I could trust
this man.
Falkenberg led the way to the ranch house in the center of officers' row. The
troops were still shouting and singing, and a group was chasing each other on
the parade ground. Most were dressed in the blue and yellow garrison uniforms
Falkenberg had designed, but others trotted past in synthi-leather
battledress. They carried rifles and heavy packs.
"Punishment detail," Falkenberg explained. "Not as many of those as there used
to be."
Sound crashed from the Officers' Mess building: drums and bagpipes, a wild
sound of war mingled with shouted laughter. Inside, two dozen men sat at a
long table as white-coated stewards moved briskly about with whiskey bottles
and glasses.
Kilted bandsmen marched around the table with pipes. Drummers stood in one
corner. The deafening noise stopped as Falkenberg entered, and everyone got to
his feet. Some were quite unsteady.
"Carry on," Falkenberg said, but no one did. They eyed Hamner nervously, and
at a wave from the mess president at the head of the table the pipers and
drummers went outside. Several stewards with bottles followed them. The other
officers sat and talked in low tones. After all the noise the room seemed very
quiet.
"We'll sit over here, shall we?" the colonel asked. He led Hamner to a small
table in one corner. A steward brought two glasses of whiskey and set them
down.
The room seemed curiously bare to Hamner. A few banners, some paintings; very
little else.
Somehow, he thought, there ought to be more. As if they're waiting. But that's
ridiculous.
Most of the officers were strangers, but George recognized half a dozen
Progressives, the highest rank a first lieutenant. He waved at the ones he
knew and received brief smiles that seemed almost guilty before the Party
volunteers turned back to their companions.
"Yes, sir?" Falkenberg prompted.
"Just who are these men?" George demanded. "I know they're not native to
Hadley. Where did they come from?"
"CoDominium officers on the beach," Falkenberg answered promptly. "Reduction
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in force.
Lots of good men got riffed into early retirement. Some of them heard I was
coming here and chose to give up their reserve ranks. They came out on the
colony ship on the chance I'd hire them."
"And you did."
"Naturally I jumped at the chance to get experienced men at prices we could
afford."
"But why all the secrecy? Why haven't I heard about them before?"
Falkenberg shrugged. "We've violated several of the Grand Senate's regulations
on mercenaries, you know. It's best not to talk about these things until the
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