isn't the most patient of men. Many hold him in high regard since his fight with Toibin and will not take kindly to his rejection. There are those who want to rid themselves of the restrictions we have imposed. There has been talk of changes.' She looked at Suke Jumay. 'Some of it close to home.'
'Mel is a hothead,' he admitted. He rasped his chin, remembering how the youngster had defied him over the damage caused by the fire. Pride had made him meet the cost from his own pocket, but where would the defiance end? 'He needs action.'
'He isn't alone,' said Nadine. 'There aren't enough opportunities to keep he and his kind busy. To raid we need ships. To meet costs we must have profitable targets. Dumarest is offering us a golden opportunity. The accumulated wealth of an entire world!'
A theme she harped on as she went into detail. With Toibin dead his ship needed a captain and she had just the man in mind. Lief Chapman who belonged to no combine and old enough to be cautious, stubborn enough not to be easily swayed, rich enough to contribute. One with experience now fretting at inactivity and yearning to get back into space. A man they could trust.
Points they could appreciate.
She gave them others. An idle vessel made no profits. The Geniat was almost ready to leave. The crew could contain most of the disaffected. A large compliment would offer the chance of many gaining experience and also provide a garrison to establish a claim on Earth. Dumarest would command the expedition.
'Command?' Jumay shook his head. 'No. He'll be a passenger.'
'And a guide.'
'All we need are the coordinates.'
'We have to be sure of him.' Nadine was patient. 'The reward is too great for us to take unnecessary chances. Give him nothing but passage and he has no real commitment. Put him in command and offer him a share and we'll bind him to us.' She appealed to their logic. 'What have we to lose?'
Her own idea and a good one. Dumarest would accept the offer as he would agree to the condition she intended to impose. One Brak guessed as, after the others had gone, he voiced his displeasure.
'You can't do it, Nadine!'
'You can't stop me.'
'But-'
'Don't try to talk me out of it!' She regretted her tone, but he was transparently easy to read and she was in no mood for an argument. 'I'm going with Dumarest. With the expedition. It's what I want and what's going to happen.'
'Nadine! For God's sake! You're all I have!'
The prisoner of his need and she turned from him, fighting her anger. Why couldn't he understand? Why must he cling so hard? Why couldn't he let her go?
Standing at the edge of the field Dumarest studied the Kaldari as they practiced their form of military exercise. They worked in groups, following coded signals, keeping to patterns of movement which provided mutual cover and protection. Drills common to the mercenary bands he had known, but where hired soldiers were intent on survival the Kaldari concentrated on speed. They had no interest in taking and holding territory or of limiting damage. Their aim was to raid and run. To attack, to kill to loot. They would attack like wolves, fight like cornered rats, die rather than yield. Individuals trained in the art of murder.
At his side Zehava said, 'Look at them, Earl. Ready for anything. They'll go wherever you want. Do anything you order. Why not help me make the final decision?'
'The Council gave you that job. You know these people better than I do. Just avoid selecting hotheads. We want no trouble.'
'You or Nadine? Why take her? She's paranoid.'
'She comes with us,' he said flatly. 'Nigel too.' The young man could be a potential ally. He pointed at a man on the field. One going through the movements of unarmed combat. 'What about him?'
'Atsuo? He's good but getting slow.' Stubbornly she added, 'I still can't see why you want to take Nadine.'
Dumarest ignored her objection, concentrating on those busy at exercise. Zehava had assumed too much. She believed they would follow him without question, but he knew better. Killing Toibin had won him a certain respect, but it wasn't enough. To gain rank and loyalty he needed to prove himself in a manner they would accept, yet do it in a way which would not injure their pride.
He had made his choice. A sharp rattle of shots made it easy for him to close in on his selected target. 'Automatic fire?'
'That's Nowka. He's fast and accurate. Come and watch.'
Targets had been set up at the edge of the field. A dozen, man-sized silhouettes balanced to fall at the impact of a bullet. A man stood facing them, a stubby weapon cradled in his arms. Others clustered behind him, among them a girl with braided hair with a chronometer in her hand. As she called the signal Nowka fired, crouching, twisting as he emptied the magazine. Half the targets toppled to the dirt.
As the applause died Zehava said, 'See? I told you he was good.'
By her definition and those watching but Dumarest had other standards. Joining the group he said to the man with the gun, 'That's a fine weapon. May I see it?'
It was simple, but effective, designed for hard wear. A short-range weapon favored by mercenaries for street and house fighting. The magazine held thirty cartridges. A stud determined the style of fire.
'I've smoothed and polished the action,' explained the owner. He was hard, brash, in his early twenties. He wore the ubiquitous martial garb and the weapon had been personalized with engraving and brilliant stones. 'I can clear the load in less than four seconds.'
'So I noticed.'
'You don't approve?'
Dumarest said, dryly, 'It seems to me that if you hit the target with the first shot the rest aren't necessary. Use them all and you could be in trouble.'
'Meaning?'
'Think about it.' Dumarest looked at the targets, noting their distance, the way they had been grouped. The space between them was too great for effective sweep-fire. 'Anyone can shoot at things which can't hit back, but suppose those targets were a real enemy? Armed men ready and able to kill. What then?'
'I'll show you.' Nowka snatched back the gun and rammed home a fresh magazine. 'Give the word, Kathi.' He bettered his previous performance sending nine targets to the ground.
As he lowered the gun and turned, smiling, Dumarest said, 'Well? What do you do now?'
'What are you getting at?'
'They are the enemy.' Dumarest pointed at the targets still standing. 'You've just shot down their comrades. Your gun is empty. You're at their mercy. If you're lucky they'll give you a quick death.'
'Could you do better?'
'I think so.'
'Let's see you do it.' Nowka added, 'If you've the guts to bet I'll lay a thousand you can't beat my score.'
'Load the gun.' Dumarest took it, checked the action, set the stud for single fire. To those watching he said, 'Just shooting at targets doesn't teach you much more than how to aim your weapon. To improve the skill which could save your life you need to use intelligence and imagination. Think of those targets as enemy soldiers on patrol, alert to catch any hint of movement, primed to open fire in triggered reflex. If you attacked and gave them the slightest chance then, no matter how good you are at hitting targets, you're dead. Dead,' he repeated. 'Useless. To me. The expedition. Your comrades.'
'The talk of a coward,' sneered Nowka. 'You can only die once. What matter how as long as it's done with honor? Toibin knew that. He never hesitated to take a risk. Not even when it came to fighting a man trained in the arena.'
'It was his choice,' said Dumarest. 'As making that wager was yours.' He turned to face the targets. 'Kathi!'
He opened fire as the girl gave the signal, moving and firing in a blur of coordinated movement, the sound of the shots blending into one.
As the last target fell Kathi said, her voice high,
'That's perfect! They never knew what hit them! They were dead before they hit the ground! They -' She
