Michael Williamson - When Diplomacy Fails…

Elke said, “Except for trigger happy mercenary bodyguards, and potentially silly but useful hangers on.”

Color drained from Highland’s face, then flushed back. That had hit her hard.

Elke did enjoy being able to love her work.

Bart said, “Cruk’s ratings are low and sinking. He needs a substantial boost, and less competition. The Party specifically said they were ‘looking at all options for candidates,’ when I saw the German feed. They are not confident of his popularity even in your own party.”

Highland snorted. “It’s not that I think he wouldn’t do it. He’d readily do it. He’s just too fucking stupid. He’s a pretty face and a soothing voice, and never ran even a Third World constituency. He wins elections by handing out largesse and manipulating people.”

“This would manipulate you, yes?”

“He couldn’t do it, though.”

“So who got him in?”

She was silent. Bart drove, maneuvering constantly.

Eventually she spoke. “I have to trust you with my life. That’s much easier than trusting you with party dirt.”

“Ma’am, unless you want to be a martyr, I’d suggest you relay us information. Have you heard anything ugly about our previous principals, from us?”

“No. But it’s not that simple.” She sighed. “I suppose I must. You’re seen as a threat.”

She left it hanging as if it were a revelation.

Elke said, “We deduced that before we left Earth.”

Jason said, “We’ll continue this inside. We’re here. Alex, how do you want to do it?”

Alex never hesitated. Elke appreciated that.

“Jason, you’ll lead Elke in with Ms. Highland. Bart will get out with Aramis. Shaman will take over driving. Around the block, I’ll get out with Jessie. Shaman ditches it and comes last.”

Bart pulled over and they started debarking, onto a sidewalk lightly traveled by only a few matrons with wheeled baskets if poor, or humming floaters if a little less so.

After two stops, Horace slid over to drive. JessieM was still stunned silent, and debarked with Alex. That left him alone to park a stolen vehicle, and of course, that’s when he drove past a parked police vehicle.

He made no funny moves, just drove as a limo driver would. In the rear screen, he saw them frown slightly. The vehicle was out of place in this area. It wasn’t out of place enough for them to risk the wrath of whichever mucky-muck was aboard. He took a side street, then another, keeping direction and distance in mind. It was quiet and dusky, so he pulled over, raised his scarf to a hood, checked his pistol, parked and stepped out.

All his gear was already inside, or should be. He shouldered a small cross-pack that held emergency sundries, and kept a clear path between hand and pistol. No one molested him; indeed, he saw almost no one until he reached the thoroughfare, where he seemed to blend in well enough. Three minutes of steady but unhurried walking got him to the saferoom.

Horace hadn’t expected any particular apartment. Location and discretion were primary, then cost always played a role. Too pricey would raise inquiries. Too cheap affected reliability of the landlord and neighbors. He was surprised when he walked in the door.

Furnished, it would be a very nice place. Seven plastic chairs and seven basic cots filled a nicely laid out common room. This was probably considered a studio, but it was a large studio. The bathroom was back there, with a frosted one-way pane. The kitchenette was modern, and quite a few cans, instant packages and beverages sat waiting.

“New phone,” Jason said, and underhanded one. Horace caught it.

Elke stood in the middle observing. She said to Jason, “You already set the bathroom window with a line and a breaking charge.”

“Yes.”

“Not a bad job. Should I tune it?”

“I assume you can do better, so yes.”

Elke seemed happy and relaxed with explosive in hand. For most people, that would be insane. For her, it was comfortably normal. Good.

Alex said, “I hadn’t planned on Jessie, so we’re short a cot. However, we’ll need someone on watch.”

“I am on now,” Bart said. He had a tub of soup open, steaming, and sipped it like a drink.

“We won’t be here long,” Alex said. “We’ll be planning an offensive and moving. Ms. Highland, Jessie, while this location is probably safe, nothing is guaranteed. Remain dressed. Keep all property immediately at hand. We may move on a moment’s notice. Do not make any communications. That is an order.”

Horace examined Highland as she flared her eyebrows and said nothing. She at least understood the practicalities of the situation. Jessie just nodded.

Highland said, “I’ll try to rest then.”

“Good idea. I want half down, half up for now. Eat, rest, rearm. How’s our stock?”

Jason said, “We’ve hardly shot anything. I have spare ammo here so we can take full loadouts, but that’s mass.”

“Juggle it on a personal basis. Ammo first, then water, then food, then sundries.”

Jason said, “I’d like to see about finding a deeper hole, cruder and more remote. We can spend a little money and do things discreetly.”

“How fast can you get a vehicle?”

“Fast isn’t the problem. If I stick down a wad of cash and shiny metal, someone is going to know it’s questionable and word will get out. I have no way to justify financing. So I need to find a private party and make it worth their while, but we still don’t know we can trust them.”

Aramis asked, “Would they rat us out, knowing they might lose their payoff?”

“They might be that stupid, or they might just lie about how much it was.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“So I can get transport, but we must then move at once.”

“At the risk of sounding prejudiced, we want to stick to Christian groups.”

“Or the Turks, or one of the rare Baha’i.”

“Possibly.”

“I really hate trying to sound as if I give a damn about religion. It’s dishonest of me, and I feel worse because it matters to them.”

Highland said, “But you’re fine with shooting people.”

He faced her and said, “Mercenaries have morals, too.”

“I can do it,” Elke said. “I’m not particularly religious, but I can accept a blessing and offer friendliness in return.”

“You and Aramis. Go.” As they left, he dimmed the lights to ten percent.

Since they’d picked up JessieM much like a stray dog, Horace considered her one of his patients and charges. She looked very wrung out at the moment, and her breathing indicated a borderline panic reaction.

“Jessie, let me check you for injuries quickly.”

“Oh, if you need to,” she said, snapping alert and looking worried, growing a shade paler.

“It’s just a precaution,” he said. “Have a seat here.” He indicated the corner away from the plotting and scheming, and kept his voice low. Highland took no notice. Though to be fair, the stress was affecting her, too.

“You seem a little out of sorts, so I want to make sure it’s not trauma.” There were no marks on her.

“Oh, it’s stress,” she admitted readily. “I’ve been through a battle. I don’t know how you can do that more than once. There were bullets… explosions… things fell. I saw bodies blown apar.. she turned greenish and paused for a moment.

She sobbed and continued. “I hate this. Publicity and presence is my job, and I can’t do it here. Not only can’t I do it here, it’s deadly if I do. I never learned the details of politics. I just rented out to promote in clear, short phrases. I’ve been with Joy for ten years now. I don’t have any useful skills.”

Horace said, “If I may professionally and discreetly inquire, is there more to your relationship?”