Profiteer

Do we start counting the three marine snipers I had to kill at the construction site?

 

It was all so damn ugly, so damn brutal. It was nothing like the clean digital world of the computer net she had worked in until now. Sure there’d always been risk—but somehow it was a cleaner risk. No one’s blood on her hands but her own. No one between her and the guns. No one out there taking shots for her.

 

Tetsami ran her hand across her eyes and wondered what she was going to do with her life.

 

No question, she could bail out now. She could cash in her share of the spoils—twenty megagrams, more money than she’d ever think to see in a lifetime—say good-bye to Bakunin, and find some civilized place to retire. She could even pay her way to Earth.

 

She tried to find some joy in the prospect, but the idea only filled her with a hollow dread.

 

“This is a wretched planet.” Tetsami spat over the ledge.

 

“Perhaps,” came a familiar voice behind her. “But it has its points.”

 

“Hello, Dominic,” she said without turning around.

 

“I’ve been looking for you. People get lost in these caverns.”

 

“I wanted to get lost.”

 

She heard him step up next to her. “Nice view.”

 

“The view’s shit.” She turned and looked at Dom. He was staring down at Godwin. “What do you want?”

 

“To thank you—”

 

“You’re welcome.” Her mouth felt dry when she said it. The irony in her voice sounded extremely unsubtle in her ears.

 

“—and give you this.” He held out to her a small plastic envelope.

 

Tetsami took it and tore the seal. Inside was a sheaf of plastic currency, all kilogram notes from the IBASC. Fifty of them. Tetsami looked at the cash, briefly unable to speak.

 

“That’s what I owe you. In addition to your share, of course.”

 

Tetsami suppressed an urge to toss the whole package off the edge of the cliff. She wanted to scream and cry, run around in circles, tear her hair out—

 

Hell, anything to get his attention.

 

“Dominic, you unfeeling bastard.”

 

Dom turned to regard her, and the nonexpression on his face made her even angrier.

 

“Do you even see people when you look out of those eyes of yours? Was all this just some sort of weird economic transaction to you?”

 

Dom, for once, looked puzzled.

 

Tetsami took the sheaf of bills and jammed them inside Dom’s shirt. “Keep it! I never delivered the damn data on Bleek anyway. And another thing—”

 

Dom was glancing down at his shirt and looking marvelously lost. “What?”

 

Tetsami grabbed both sides of Dom’s head, cocked it to the side, and kissed him savagely, until she thought she tasted blood. Hers, his, it didn’t matter. When she let go of him she said, “Think about that, you asshole.”

 

She left him standing on the ledge as, behind him, the stars began to come out.

 

<>

 

* * * *

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

 

Propaganda Victory

 

 

“Once you have mastered the art of deceiving yourself, deceiving others is that much easier.”

—The Cynic’s Book of Wisdom

 

“No man spreads a lie with so good a grace as he that believes it.”

—John Arbuthnot

(1667-1735)

 

 

“There’s been some loose talk about how bad off we are.” Klaus looked over the impromptu parade ground. It had been the landing quad, but now that they had the new mainframe and power systems on-line they didn’t need the Blood-Tide in the center of the complex running the defensive screens. Now that they had the perimeter towers back, the Blood-Tide sat next to its cousin, the Shaftsbury, on a new staging area directly east of the complex.

 

Without a ship in the way, he could comfortably address all his personnel at once. With the last load from the Shaftsbury there were nearly two thousand civilian techs, plus the remaining one hundred ten marines. It had been three days since the “incident.” Klaus stood there, at the focus of their uncomfortable silence. He had placed the podium inside the curve of the office building’s U. Someone else might have debated the wisdom of having his audience face not only him but also the shredded front of GA&A’s offices where the Blood-Tide had backed into them. It was an all-too vivid reminder of six presumed dead and five injured marines, and a pair of dead and injured civilians.

 

The silence stretched.

 

Someone else might have seen the anger in the ranks, the sinking morale, and feared it.

 

Klaus didn’t fear it. Anger was good. Anger could be used. Anger wasn’t something to shrink away from. On the contrary—

 

Anger was a gift from God.

 

Klaus scanned the front rank and made a sweeping gesture with his left arm. His right was still mostly immobile due to a laser shot from the observation tower. “Look. We fell under attack from Bakuninite terrorists, anarchists whose sole aim is our destruction. But look around you— are we destroyed?”

 

Hit them with the blatantly obvious, first. Klaus looked around, getting a feeling for the mass of the crowd.