Homefall: Book Four of the Last Legion Series (12 page)

“I figure it’s pretty much the people’s business to change things when they want,” Garvin said. “Soldiers trying to play God end up getting themselves all screwed up.”

“Even if, say, Lir and I just happened to build this thingie that just happens to go bang? And we just happen to plant it in the capital building for next inauguration, which is a known time and date, and it’s easy to set up a thingie with a long det fuse? And just when the old scum are giving things over to this Fili and his new scum, there’s a real loud bang? Wouldn’t that help?”

“You’re forgetting about the Directors, who seem to be the power behind the throne,” Garvin said. “And I really sound like I know squat from politics, don’t I?”

“We could figure
something
out and get them, too,” Montagna said stubbornly.

“First one bang, then another, then we’ll have to find a third bomb … like I said, here we’d go, playing holy redeemer,” Garvin said.

“Garvin, I’m trying to think, and while that feels good, especially there, I’ll …”

“You’ll what?” Garvin said muffledly.

“Try not to make as much noise coming this time,” Darod said, and moaned.

• • •

“We may have erred,” Director Berti told his aide. “All that little transmitter does is tell us about the ship’s location.

“I would like to have better data about people as … immediate … as these circus people. They seem much more than happy wanderers from a distant planet.”

“I wondered about that as well,” the aide said. “And have something … or, rather, someone, ready to go.”

“As usual, you anticipate my thinking,” Berti purred.

• • •

“Now, here’s the hot setup,” Njangu told the assembled women and men. “The Social Democrats, who we shouldn’t have gotten in bed with in the first place, but it’s too late to cry over spilt drugs, are giving us security out the gump stump.

“I’ve seen their assembled legions, and they’re about what you’d expect from a bunch of politicos — mostly big apes with glowers and hair growing out of their ears. If they’ve got any smooth suckers, they’re keeping them around the throne.

“But that’s fine with us,” he said, winking at Maev, in the front row. “Let them swirl about and attract any baddies’ attention.

“You pros, you shooters, are going to stay invisible.

“Until the shit comes down,” he said, his good humor vanishing. “Then we obliterate the bastards.”

• • •

“Here,” Garvin said, handing Njangu a tiny button.

“You shouldn’t have. What is it?”

“Something that’ll tell me of your every doing, your every nefarious move.”

“Mmmph.”

“Everybody who’s a shaker, aboard, including me, gets one.”

“You’re anticipating more trouble?”

“Maybe … or maybe I’m just trying to cover my ass in all directions,” Garvin said.

“But that’s
my
job.”

“That’s what cross-training is for.”

“I’m not sure I like anyone knowing where I am,” Njangu complained.

“Tough.”

“Where am I supposed to wear this?” Njangu inquired.

“In a pocket. Glued in your frigging navel. Up your ass for all I care.”

• • •

“These fiches here are very interesting,” Freron told Penwyth, standing in the middle of his apartment, which, if an ex-military sort hadn’t fussed about it every once in a while, would’ve been a motherless clutter. Instead, it was a well-categorized mess.

“Ah?”

“This was one of my pet projects. I was ordered to begin it when I attended that intelligence course, as I’ve told you, and after that I added to the file.

“It is, I think, absolutely current as of ten years ago.”

Penwyth waited.

“It is the listing, I think very close to complete, of all mechanical warning and security devices that the Confederation posted around Centrum, the three other habitable worlds in the Capella system, and all nav points approaching it.

“Also, there’s a listing of where the Confederation guard points were around Capella. I should think that would interest any historian.”

Penwyth noted Freron put ostentatious verbal quote marks around the word “historian.”

“A historian, no doubt, would be interested. What would you be asking for your material?”

“My asking … and selling price is one hundred and fifty thousand credits.”

Penwyth covered a minor choke.

“I think that’s reasonable,” Freron said, sounding a bit injured. “Not only for the historian, but conceivably for someone concerned about current affairs. All of these mechanical devices were built on a single world, and they were self-modifying.

“It should be simple for someone to visit that manufacturing world, perhaps institute a relationship with the builders of these devices, and be given the program for the auto-upgrades, wouldn’t it?”

Penwyth scratched his nose, had another snifter of the brandy he’d brought with him.

“You have an interesting mind, Kuprin. I’m amazed you didn’t reach a higher rank than
Tousan.
”

Freron smiled, a little bitterly.

“In those days, I was a bit more interested in gaming than was healthy. Star rank in Tiborg is given only to those who have no flaws. Visible ones, at any rate.

“Another thing a historian of the final days of the Confederation might value is this complete map of Centrum itself, focusing on the various military installations.

“That would be on the market for … oh, I don’t know. Another hundred thousand credits.

“Or, perhaps, if I encountered a well-to-do collector, I might release the map and the data on the security systems for two hundred thousand.

“As long as we’re thinking large,” he went on, “I’d be happy to donate my entire collection of material on the Confederation for, oh, half a million.”

• • •

“What does the son of a bitch think we are, kagillionaires?” Garvin complained.

“I don’t guess he knows about Jasith, now does he?” Njangu said.

“Sharrup,” Garvin said. “Erik, can we bargain?”

“Don’t think so, boss,” Erik said, enjoying Jaansma’s reaction. “He had a certain air of firmness to him. Oh yeh. He’s also a cagey bastard. The fiches he was waving about are only partial files. The rest is nice and secure in a deposit box in a largish bank, whose name he wouldn’t give out.”

“Why that duplicitous bastard!” Garvin snarled. “What does he think we are? Burglars?”

“Untrusting sort,” Njangu agreed. “And I was just about to ask Erik for the floor plan of his flat. Oh well.”

“At least,” Garvin said, “I had the sense to jack our price way up to Fili and company.”

He put his head in his hands.

“First we got a circus in the middle of politics, which my family would disown me for doing, then we’ve got an antiquated traitor with too high a price tag … nobody knows the troubles I’ve seen.”

“Cheer up,” Njangu said unsympathetically. “You know it’s bound to get worse.”

• • •

Kekri Katun didn’t have a voice so much as a purr, Garvin thought. She was also the loveliest creature he’d ever seen, from her platinum hair, which seemed natural, to her perfect face, smooth skin, generous bust, and waist that was improbably thin.

He wondered how many credits and plastic surgeons had been spent making her what she was.

“Oh yes,” she said. “I’ve been trained as a tumbler and acrobat for half my life … and I do believe in staying in shape.”

Without effort, she fell sideways, out of her chair, onto one arm, and hoisted herself up into a one-hand stand. Her light tan dress slid over her thighs, and Garvin thought, alarmed, that she might not be wearing anything under it.

“Now I could tell a funny story, recite a poem, sing a song from right here,” she said. “I know a lot of songs, for I was on the road with a small troupe for five years.”

Very slowly, she put another hand down, opened her legs into a Y, did a pushup, then sprang up, landing on her feet, not a hair out of place, not a breath louder than normal.

“I also, since I understand you people of the circus work at other things besides your main talents, am an excellent bookkeeper, office manager, and, if it’s needed, can do poses as well.”

“Poses?”

“That’s something the clubs of Delta like,” she explained. “Especially the older gentlemen, who won’t admit they’d like to see a woman just take off her clothes.”

She touched fasteners, and the dress fell away. She
wasn’t
wearing underclothes.

Garvin’s mouth was very dry.

Katun struck a pose.

“This is Director Randulf, one of our heroines, as she appeared on her wedding night.”

“Uh …”

“This is
T’ousan
Merrist, when she fled the rebels. I know several dozen more.”

“Uh … yes. Very interesting,” Garvin said. “You can put your clothes back on. We don’t do anything like that.”

“Oh. I thought, coming up past the attractions outside — ”

“That’s called the midway.”

“The midway, and I saw all those banners with ladies not wearing much of anything …”

“That’s Sopi Midt’s operation,” Garvin said. “He believes in going for the lowest common denominator, and, by the way, he isn’t ashamed to cheat a little. All of the girls in his shows never get down to their underwear.

“At least they better not, or I’ll slaughter him.”

“And what’s the matter with a little nudity? Especially among friends?” Katun said, sliding back into her dress, and half smiling at him, lips parted.

Garvin chose to change the subject.

“We’re hiring all the time,” he said. “Right now, we need a showgirl. And I’m sure the acrobats and the showgirls would be interested in your … talents.”

“I saw that murder on the holos. Poor girl.”

“But the problem is, we might not be coming back this way for a while.”

Katun shrugged.

“My father was a salesman with a big territory, and I really don’t remember my mother. I’m used to being on the road.” Again she smiled her sultry smile. “And I’ve never been offworld. Besides, for a girl like me, there’s always a way to get back home.

“Or I can find a new one.”

“Uh … right … your com number’s here on the application,” Garvin said. “I’ll … we’ll be in touch within a day or so.”

Kekri Katun got up, slunk to the door, turned back, and looked at him.

“I think performing … with you … with your circus … is just about the most exciting idea I’ve ever known,” she breathed, and the compartment door slid closed behind her.

“Phew,” Garvin muttered, went for a beer, decided he needed something stronger and got out the brandy decanter. The door slid open again, and he jumped.

“Phew indeed,” Njangu said. “She keeps herself nicely shaved, doesn’t she?”

He found and opened a beer.

“So what are we going to do about her?”

“I’m just the security man,” Njangu grinned. “Of course, you’re going to hire her.”

“Why of course?”

“Because it’s always good to have a spy right under your eyes.” Njangu snickered. ‘Or thighs as the case may be.”

“Aren’t we being a little hard on her? What’s this spy business?”

“Not as hard as she’d like it to be,” Njangu said. “Come on, Garvin. Get your head out of your crotch and back in gear. Women like her don’t blow in your ear … or mine, either … because they think we’re the best-hung items since the elephants.”

Garvin slumped down in his chair.

“Yeh. You’re right. I was being dumb. You got any idea who she might be reporting to?”

“I could make a guess,” Njangu said. “Since she didn’t object to offplaneting, that’d suggest to me she’s working for somebody with longer-range views than either Fili or who’s that guy running for the Constitutionalists.”

“And the folks who’ve got long-range views would be — ”

“The Directors?”

“Perzackly.”

“So why shouldn’t we just tell her the position’s filled?”

“Because they’ll try again … whoever they are … maybe buying one of our roustabouts, maybe filtering another agent in,” Njangu explained. “If they already haven’t. We’ve had twenty-three people quit — all citizens, naturally, who decided they like Tiborg so far, and added, uh, about thirty of the locals. Not counting ol’ Cooin’ Kekri.

“Hire her, then … oh yeh, do you have a tendency to talk in your sleep?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Then turn her into our agent. Screw her black-and-blue, and get her singing our tune.

“Or else I can pop a shot in her pretty little ass, and have her singing like a buzzard, telling us everything including what, specifically, that Director Berti wants, and never realize it when she wakes up. Remember how they screened us when we joined the Force?”

“Yeh.”

“The first way’s a lot more fun, by the way.”

“Uh …”

“I’ll never tell Jasith,” Njangu said. “And there’s surely no other reason for you not to sacrifice your virtue for the Force, now is there?”

He smiled, evilly.

Garvin glowered, realized that he must know about Darod, probably the whole damned circus knew.

“She signs on,” Njangu said, “and I’ll have all her gear shaken, and make sure if she’s got a com it won’t work very well … and whatever she transmits goes straight into my security trap.

“Come on, Garvin. Where’s your fighting spirit? And weren’t you the guy who was bragging, back in Grimaldi, what with all the midgets and freaks and Chinese acrobats, that this was starting to feel a lot like a real circus?”

“Circuses don’t generally have spies,” Garvin said feebly.

“Then be innovative! Start a new tradition! You owe it to yourself!

“Besides, think of ol’ Randulf on her wedding night.”

• • •

“It’s all done with lights,” the little boy insisted.

“Of course,” Jiang Fong agreed.

“And … and mirrors,” the boy said.

“How clever,” Fong said. “You must have a closer look.”

He picked the boy up from his lift and tossed him, spinning, shrieking, up to his wife, Qi Tan, balancing on her hands three meters in the air on a weaving forked pole. She caught him with her feet, tumbled him about, tickling him with a finger until he stopped screaming and started laughing, then tossed him from one hand to another as she swayed, then dropped him back down to Gang.