Tactics of Mistake (27 page)

Mondar shook his head with a slow smile of admiration. “Did you take advantage of his good humor to ask him to consider the Maran core-tap plan?”

“Yes,” said Cletus. “You'll have to send a representative to sign the actual papers, but I think you'll find he'll be falling over himself in his eagerness to sign the agreement.”

The smile vanished from Mondar's face. “You mean he's seriously interested?” Mondar demanded. “He's interested in a situation in which they'd put up that kind of equipment and professional services simply in return for a long-term financial gain?”

“He's not merely interested,” said Cletus. “You'll find he's pretty well determined not to let the chance get away, no matter what. You should be able to write your own terms.”

“I can't believe it!” Mondar stared at him. “How in the name of eternity did you get him into such a favorable mood?”

“There wasn't any real problem,” said Cletus. “As you say, the man's a hard bargainer—but only when he's bargaining from a position of strength. I began, after our talk about the Dorsais was done, by just dropping the hint that I was on my way to Earth, where I had family connections who'd help me in getting Alliance funds to help you set up the Maran core-tap. He was interested, of course—I think, at first, more in the prospect in getting some such sort of Alliance aid for Newton. But then I happened to dwell on some of the financial benefits the Alliance would receive in the long run in return for their help, and that seemed to start him thinking.”

“Yes,” murmured Mondar, “the Newtonian appetite for credit is real enough.”

“Exactly,” Cletus said. “Once he showed that appetite, I knew I had him hooked. I kept drawing him on until he, himself, suggested his Advanced Associated Communities might possibly be interested in putting up a small share themselves—perhaps supplying 20 per cent of the equipment, or an equivalent amount of the trained personnel, in return for no more than a five-year mortgage on property here on Bakhalla.”

“He did?” Mondar's face became thoughtful. “It's a steep price, of course, but considering our chances of actually getting Alliance money are practically nonexistent—”

“Just what I told him,” interrupted Cletus. “The price was so steep as to be ridiculous. In fact, I laughed in his face.”

“You did?” Mondar's gaze sharpened. “Cletus, that wasn't wise. An offer like that from a chairman of the board on Newton—”

“Is hardly realistic, as I frankly told him,” said Cletus. “I wasn't likely to put myself in the position of carrying an offer from them to you that was penurious to the point of insult. After all, as I told him, I had an obligation to my Dorsais to maintain good relationships with the governments of
all
independent new worlds colonies—and on second thought, I'd even begun to feel a little doubtful that I ought to have mentioned the matter to him in any case. After all, I'd only been given authority to speak to my relatives and contacts back on Earth.”

“And he stood for that?” Mondar stared at Cletus. “He not only stood for it,” said Cletus, “he didn't waste any time in apologizing and amending his offer to a more realistic level. However, as I told him, by this tune I was beginning to feel a little bit unsure about the whole business where he was concerned. But he kept on raising his offer until he was willing to supply the entire amount of necessary equipment, plus as many trained people as necessary to drill the core-tap and get it into operation as a power source. I finally agreed—reluctantly—to bring that offer back to you before going on to Earth.”

“Cletus!” Mondar's eyes were alight. “You did it!”

“Not really,” said Cletus. “There was still that matter of the Newtonians requiring Bakhallan property as security in addition to a mortgage on the core-tap itself. I was due to leave the next day, so early that morning, before I left, I sent him a message saying I'd thought it over during the night and, since there was absolutely no doubt that the Alliance would be happy to finance the project with a mortgage merely on the basis of the core-tap mortgage alone, I'd decided to disregard his offer after all and go directly on to Earth.”

Mondar breathed out slowly. “With that much of an offer from him already in your hands,” he said—and from anyone but an Exotic the tone of the words would have been bitter—“you had to gamble on a bluff like that!”

“There wasn't any gamble involved,” said Cletus. “By this time the man had talked himself into buying a piece of the project at any cost. I believe I could even have gotten more from him if I hadn't already implied the limits of what the Alliance would do. So, it's just a matter of your sending someone to sign the papers.”

“You can count on that. We won't waste time,” answered Mondar. He shook his head. “We'll owe you a favor for this, Cletus. I suppose you know that.”

“The thought would be a strange one to overlook,” said Cletus, soberly. “But I'm hoping Exotics and Dorsais have stronger grounds for mutual assistance in the long run than just a pattern of reciprocal favors.”

He returned to the Dorsai, eight days later, ship's-time, to find the three thousand men, about whom he had messaged from Newton, already mobilized and ready to embark. Of these, only some five hundred were new-trained Dorsais. The other twenty-five hundred were good solid mercenary troops from the planet, but as yet lacking in Cletus's specialized training. However, that fact did not matter; since the untrained twenty-five hundred would be essentially, according to Cletus' plans, along only for the ride.

Meanwhile, before he left with them for Newton in three days' time, there was his marriage to Melissa to accomplish. The negotiations at Bakhalla and on Newton had delayed him. As a result, he arrived—having messaged ahead that he would be there in time for the ceremony if he had to hijack an atmosphere ship to make it—less than forty-five minutes short of the appointed hour—all this, only to find the first news to greet him was that perhaps all his hurry had been needless.

“She says she's changed her mind, that's all,” Eachan Khan said to Cletus, low-voiced, in the privacy of the shadowed dining room. Over Eachan's stiff shoulders Cletus could see, some thirty feet away, the chaplain of his regiment of new-trained Dorsais, along with the other guests, eating and drinking in light-hearted ignorance of the sudden, drastic change in plans. The gathering was made up of old, fast friends of Eachan's and new, but equally fast, friends and officers of Cletus's. Among the mercenaries, loyalties were apt to be hard-won, but once won, unshakable. Those who were friends of Cletus's outnumbered those of Eachan's by more than two to one. Cletus had set up the invitation list that way.

“She says there's something wrong,” said Eachan, helplessly, “and she has to see you. I don't understand her. I used to understand her, before deCastries—” He broke off. His shoulders sagged under the jacket of his dress uniform. “But not any more.”

“Where is she?” asked Cletus.

“In the garden. The end of the garden, down beyond the bushes in the summer house,” said Eachan.

Cletus turned and went out one of the french doors of the dining room toward the garden. Once he was out of sight of Eachan, he circled around to the parking area and the rented car he had flown out here from Foralie.

Opening the car, he got out his luggage case and opened it. Inside were his weapon belt and sidearm. He strapped the belt around his waist, discarding the weather flap that normally protected the polished butt of the sidearm. Then he turned back toward the garden.

He found her where Eachan had said. She was standing in the summer house with her back to him, her hands on the white railing before her, looking through a screen of bushes at the far ridge of the surrounding mountains. At the sound of his boots on the wooden floor of the summer house, she turned to face him.

“Cletus!” she said. Her face was quite normal in color and expression, although her lips were somewhat firm. “Dad told you?”

“Yes,” he answered, stopping in front of her. “You should be inside getting ready. As it is we're going to have to go ahead just the way we are.”

Her eyes widened slightly. A look of uncertainty crept into them. “Go ahead?” she echoed. “Cletus, haven't you been up to the house? I thought you said you'd already talked to Dad.”

“I have,” he said.

“Then…“ She stared at him. “Cletus, didn't you understand what he said? I told him—it's wrong. It's just wrong. I don't know what's wrong about it, but something is. I'm not going to marry you!”

Cletus looked at her. And, as she gazed back at him, Melissa's face changed. There crept into her face that expression that Cletus had seen her wear only once before. It was the look he had seen on her face after he had emerged alive from the ditch in which he had played dead in order to destroy with the dally gun the Neulander guerrillas who had attacked their armored car on its way into Bakhalla.

“You don't… you can't think,” she began, barely above a whisper. But then her voice firmed. “You can
force
me to marry you?”

“We'll hold the ceremony,” he said.

She shook her head, disbelievingly. “No Dorsai chaplain would marry me against my will!”

“My regimental chaplain will—if I order it,” Cletus said.

“Marry the daughter of Eachan Khan?” she blazed, suddenly. “And I suppose my father's simply going to stand still and watch this happen?”

“I hope so—sincerely,” answered Cletus, with such a slow and meaningful emphasis on the words that color leaped into her face for a second and then drained away to leave her as pale as a woman in shock.

“You…“ Her voice faltered and stopped. Child of a mercenary officer, she could not have failed to notice that, among those present for the wedding, those bound to Cletus by emotional or other ties outnumbered those bound to her father by two to one. But her eyes on him were still incredulous. They searched his face for some indication that what she saw there was somehow not the true Cletus.

“But you're not like that. You wouldn't…” Her voice failed again. “Dad's your friend!”

“And you're going to be my wife,” Cletus answered.

Her eyes fell for the first time to the sidearm in the uncapped holster at his waist.

“Oh, God!” She put a slim hand to each side of her face. “And I thought Dow was cruel—I won't answer. When the chaplain asks me if I'll take you for my husband, I'll say no!”

“For Eachan's sake,” said Cletus, “I hope not.”

Her hands fell from her face. She stood like a sleepwalker, with her arms at her sides.

Cletus stepped up to her, took her arm and led her, unresisting, out of the summer house up through the garden, through a hedge and back in through the french doors to the dining room. Eachan was still there, and he turned to face them quickly as they came in, putting down the glass he held and stepping quickly forward to meet them.

“Here you are!” he said. His gaze sharpened suddenly on his daughter. “Melly! What's the matter?”

“Nothing,” Cletus answered. “There's no problem, after all. We're going to get married.”

Eachan's gaze switched sharply to Cletus. “You are?” His eyes locked with Cletus's for a second, then went back to Melissa. “Is this right, Melly? Is everything all right?”

“Everything's fine,” said Cletus. “You'd better tell the chaplain we're ready now.”

Eachan did not move. His eyes raked downward and stared deliberately at the weapon in its holster on Cletus' hip. He looked back up at Cletus, and then at Melissa.

“I'm waiting to hear from you, Melly,” Eachan said slowly. His eyes were as gray as weathered granite. “You haven't told me yet that everything's all right.”

“It's all right,” she said between stiff, colorless lips. “It was your idea I marry Cletus in the first place, wasn't it, Dad?”

“Yes,” said Eachan. There was no noticeable change in his expression, but all at once a change seemed to pass over him, sweeping away all emotion and leaving him quiet, settled and purposeful. He took a step forward, so that he stood now almost between them, looking directly up into Cletus's face from a few inches away. “But perhaps I was making a mistake.”

His right hand dropped, seemingly in a casual way, to cover Cletus's hand where it held Melissa's wrist. His fingers curled lightly about Cletus's thumb in a grip that could be used to break the thumb if Cletus did not release his hold.

Cletus dropped his other hand lightly upon the belt of the weapon at his side.

“Let go,” he said softly to Eachan.

The same deadly quietness held them both. For a second there was no movement in the room, and then Melissa gasped.

“No!” She forced herself between them, facing her father, her back toward Cletus, his hand still holding her wrist, now behind her back. “Dad! What's the matter with you? I'd think you'd be happy we've decided to get married after all!”

Behind her, Cletus let go of her wrist and she brought the formerly imprisoned arm around before her. Her shoulders lifted sharply with the depth of her breathing. For a moment Eachan stared at her blankly, and then a little touch of puzzlement and dismay crept into his eyes.

“Melly, I thought…“ His voice stumbled and fell silent.

“Thought?” cried Melissa, sharply. “What, Dad?”

He stared at her, distractedly. “I don't know!” he exploded, all at once. “I don't understand you, girl! I don't understand you at all.”

He turned away and stamped back to the table where he had put his drink down. He picked it up and swallowed heavily from it.

Melissa went to him and for a second put her arm around his shoulders, laying her head against the side of his head. Then she turned back to Cletus and placed a cold hand on his wrist. She looked at him with eyes that were strangely deep and free of anger or resentment.