Brothers in Arms

And the mutant piranhas could eat what was left, no doubt. The charm of the vision of Tung spending his sunset years watching—sunsets, from a riverboat deck, with a buxom—Miles was sure she was buxom—Eurasian lady on his lap, a drink in one hand and scarfing down moo shu pork with the other, was a little lost on Miles as he contemplated a) what it was going to cost the fleet to buy out Tung's share of the Triumph, and b) the huge Tung-shaped hole this was going to leave in his command structure.

Gibbering, hyperventilating, or running around in small circles were not useful responses. Instead Miles essayed cautiously, 'Ah . . . you sure you won't be bored?'

Tung, damn his sharp eyes, lowered his voice and answered the real question. 'I wouldn't be leaving if I didn't think you could handle it. You've steadied down a lot, son. Just keep on like you've been.' He grinned again and cracked his knuckles. 'Besides, you have an advantage not shared by any other mercenary commander in the galaxy.'

'What's that?' Miles bit.

Tung lowered his voice still further. 'You don't have to make a profit.'

And that, and his sardonic grin, was as close as cagey Tung was ever likely to admit that he had long ago figured out who their real employer was. He saluted as he left.

Miles swallowed, and turned to Elli, 'Well . . . call a meeting of the Intelligence department in half an hour. We'll want to get our pathfinders en route as quickly as possible. Ideally, we want to put a team inside the enemy organization before we arrive.'

Miles paused, as he realized he was now looking into the face of the most wily pathfinder in his fleet for people-situations, as versus terrain-situations which called for the talents of a certain Lieutenant Christof. To send her ahead, out of reach, into danger—No, no!—was compellingly logical. Quinn's best offensive talents were largely wasted bodyguarding; it was merely an accident of history and security that threw her into that defensive job so often. Miles forced his lips to move on as if never tempted to illogic.

'They're mercenaries; some of our group ought simply to be able to join up. If we can find someone to convincingly simulate the low criminal-psychotic minds of these pirates—'

Private Danio, passing in the corridor, paused to salute. 'Thanks for bailing us out, sir. I … really wasn't expecting that. You won't regret it, I swear.'

Miles and Elli looked at each other as he lumbered on.

'He's all yours,' said Miles.

'Right,' said Quinn. 'Next?'

'Have Thorne pull everything there is off the Earth comm net on this hijacking incident before we quit local space. There might be an odd angle or two not apparent to Imperial HQ.' He tapped the data disk in his jacket pocket and sighed, marshalling his concentration for the task ahead. 'At least this should be simpler than our late vacation on Earth,' he said hopefully. 'A purely military operation, no relatives, no politics, no high finance. Straight-up good guys and bad guys.'

'Great,' said Quinn. 'Which are we?'

Miles was still thinking about the answer to that one when the fleet broke orbit.