Regiment. Aloud he said, 'But you do have multiple markets for your drugs? For your base, I mean?'
'Nonesuch takes about half the total,' Hera said, nodding agreement. 'The rest goes to about a dozen other planets, some more than others. The final processing takes temperature and vibration control beyond anything we could do on Plattner's World. Building a second spaceport would be easier.'
She paused, looking at her wine, then across at Huber again. 'The government of Nonesuch has been very supportive,' she said carefully. 'They couldn't get directly involved, but they helped to make the arrangements that led to our hiring Hammer's Regiment.'
'But they wouldn't simply raise their payments for Thalderol base?' Huber said, keeping his tone empty of everything but mild curiosity.
'Where would it stop?' Hera blazed. 'If those vultures on Solace learn that they can get away with extortion, they'll keep turning the screws!'
Based on what Huber knew about the price of anti-aging drugs, he didn't think a five-percent boost in the cost of raw materials was going to make a lot of difference, but he didn't need to get into that. There was more going on than he saw; more going on than Hera was willing to tell him, that was obvious; and probably a lot more going on than even she knew.
None of that mattered. The result of all those unseen wheels whirling was that Colonel Hammer had a lucrative contract, and Lieutenant Arne Huber was spending the evening with a very attractive woman.
'My brother claims that even with other states defraying the costs, the UC is taking all the military risk itself,' Hera continued. 'But somebody has to have the courage to take a stand! When the other states see Solace back down, they'll be quick enough to step up beside us and claim credit!'
'It didn't seem when I arrived ...' Huber said, the chill in his guts cooling his tone more than he'd intended. 'That backing down was the way Solace was planning to play it.'
He smiled, hoping that would make his words sound less like the flat disagreement that he felt. Hera was smart and competent, but she was turning her face from the reality the ambush at Rhodesville would've proved to a half-wit. It wasn't what she wanted to believe, so she was using her fine intellect to prove a lie.
'Well then, if they persist -- ' she said, but broke off as the waiter approached the table.
'More wine, sir and madam?' he asked. 'Or perhaps you've changed your mind about dessert?'
The outside door opened, drawing Huber's eyes and those of the waiter. It was late for customers, though the restaurant hadn't started dimming the lights.
'Patroklos!' Hera said, her head turning because Huber's had. 'What are you doing here?'
Not coming for dinner, that was for sure. Senator Patroklos Graciano was a good twenty years older than his sister. He was a beefy man, not fat but heavier than he'd have been if he were a manual laborer. His features were regular, handsome even, but they showed no resemblance whatever to Hera's.
Huber wondered if the two children had different mothers, but that wasn't the question at the top of his mind just this instant. He got to his feet; smoothly, he thought, but he heard the chair go over behind him with a crash on the hardwood floor and he didn't care about that either.
'What am I doing here?' Patroklos said. He had a trained voice; he used its volume to fill the domed restaurant. 'I'm not entertaining the butcher who destroyed Rhodesville, that's one thing! Are you part of the mercenaries' price, dear sister? Your body as an earnest for the bodies of all the women of the United Cities?'
Chairs were scuffling all over the room; a pair of diners edged toward the service area since Patroklos stood in front of the outside door. There were two waiters and the female manager looking on, but they'd obviously decided to leave the business to the principals involved for now.
Huber was as sure as he could be that there wasn't going to be trouble -- worse trouble -- here unless something went badly wrong. Patroklos wasn't nearly as angry as he sounded, and he'd come into the restaurant by himself. If his bodyguards had been with him -- Patroklos was the sort who had bodyguards -- it would've been a different matter.
'Patroklos, you're drunk!' Hera said. He wasn't drunk, but maybe Hera didn't see her brother's real plan. 'Get out of here and stop degrading the family name!'
She hadn't gotten up at the first shouting. Now that Patroklos was only arm's length away, she was trapped between the table and her brother's presence.
Huber thought of walking around to join her, but that might start things moving in the wrong direction. From the corners of his eyes he could see that others of the remaining customers were eyeing him with hard faces. The 'butcher of Rhodesville' line had probably struck a chord even with people who didn't support Patroklos' position on the Regiment as a whole.
'Degrade the family name?' Patroklos shouted. 'A fine concern for a camp follower!'
Huber scraped the table back and toward his left side, spilling a wine glass and some flatware onto the floor. Freed from its presence, Hera jumped to her feet and retreated to where Huber stood. He swung her behind him with his left arm.
That wasn't entirely chivalry. Huber wasn't worried about her brother, but the chance of somebody throwing a bottle at him from behind was another matter.
If I'd known there was going to be a brawl, I'd have asked for a table by the wall. He grinned at the thought; and that was probably the right thing to do, because Patroklos' mouth -- open for another bellow -- closed abruptly.
The Slammers didn't spend a lot of training time on unarmed combat: people didn't hire the Regiment for special operations, they wanted an armored spearhead that could punch through any shield the other guy raised. Huber wasn't sure that barehanded he could put this older, less fit man away since the fellow outweighed him by double, but he wasn't going to try. Huber would use a chair with the four legs out like spearpoints and then finish the job with his boots... .
'Fine, hide behind your murderer for now, you whore!' Patroklos said, but his voice wasn't as forceful as before. He eased his body backward though as yet without shifting his feet. 'You'll have nowhere to hide when the citizens of our glorious state realize the madness into which you and our father have thrown them!'
Patroklos backed quickly, then jerked the door open and stomped out into the night. The last glance he threw over his shoulder seemed more speculative than angry or afraid.
'Ma'am!' Huber said, turning his head a few degrees to face the manager without ever letting his eyes leave the empty doorway. 'Get our bill ready ASAP, will you?'
'Maria, put it on my account!' Hera said. She swept the room with her gaze. In the same clear, cold voice she went on, 'I won't bother apologizing for my brother, but I hope his display won't encourage others into drunken boorishness!'
She's noticed the temper of the onlookers too, Huber thought. Stepping quickly, he led the girl between tables Patroklos had emptied with his advance. They went out the front door.
The night air was warm and full of unfamiliar scents. A track of dust along the street and the howl of an aircar accelerating -- though by now out of sight -- indicated how and where Patroklos had departed. There were no pedestrians or other vehicles; the buildings across the street were offices over stores, closed and dark at this hour.
Huber sneezed. Hera whirled with a stark expression.
'Just dust,' he explained. He rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes. 'Or maybe the tree pollen, that's all. Nothing important.'
He felt like a puppeteer pulling the strings of a body that'd once been his but was now an empty shell. The thing that walked and talked like Arne Huber didn't have a soul for the moment; that'd been burned out by the adrenaline flooding him in the restaurant a few moments ago. The emotionless intellect floating over Huber's quivering body was bemused by the world it observed.
'I can't explain my brother's behavior!' Hera said. She walked with her head down, snarling the words to her feet. 'He's angry because father remarried -- there's no other reason for what he does!'
Huber didn't speak. He didn't care about the internal politics of the Graciano clan, and the girl was only vaguely aware of his presence anyway. She was working out her emotions while he dealt with his. They were different people, so their methods were different.
It hadn't been a lucky night, but things could've been worse. Just as at Rhodesville ...
They stepped around the corner of the building into the parking lot. Things got worse.
There were at least a dozen of them, maybe more, waiting among the cars. They started forward when Huber
