She studied it for a moment. “Sacred honor is highly valued where I come from,” she said, then wrote below their names for a moment. “In return, I pledge all that I possess in guarantee of this contract,” she said, and signed it. Chato took the pen from her and added his name as well.

“My first wife is going to tan my hide for this,” Jobe said, but he reached for the pen and added his name.

Ben folded the paper. “Now we begin—warriors, miners, farmers—to see where our dreams will lead us.”

Allabad, Alkalurops

5 August 3134

Grace called Angus Throckmorton from the spaceport and tasked him with renting a wareyard or machine shop. Jobe set to arranging transport for their gear. Most of the MechWarriors stayed with him, but Grace, Chato, Ben and Betsy hailed a cab and headed for the Guild Hall. A meeting was in session, which sounded much like the last one Grace attended. She spotted the little old woman who had been the first to give her an encouraging word and joined her at the tea cart.

“You’re back so soon,” the woman said.

“Stranger things have happened,” Grace admitted. “What’s under discussion?”

“Whether we should apportion votes in the Council of Elders based on the taxes paid to support our government,” the woman said with a smile. “That will decide how the election goes for temporary Governor, you know.”

“I didn’t,” Grace said. “We haven’t elected a Governor?”

“Oh, heavens no, dear child. I don’t think we’ve agreed on anything since you left. Your wanting to hire people to train our militia raised the issue of taxes immediately. We can’t defend ourselves on the small income The Republic generates here. No, we need to raise money, and that is such a touchy subject.”

“Yes, I know.” Grace scowled, having just pledged her own land as guarantee for eight paychecks.

“Grace,” Betsy cut in, “is there any chance we could get the floor for a few minutes? We really need to know what Alkalurops is willing to pony up for their own defense, and they need to know what you’ve hired.”

“I was kind of hoping I could talk to a few people alone first. Folks around here take to ideas a little at a time. Hit them too hard and they can get a bit skittish.”

“Grace, I heard you were due back,” Garry McGuire said from the head of the table. “Are those some of the MechWarrior candidates you brought back for us to interview.”

“Candidates?” Ben said with an arched eyebrow.

“These are both fully qualified MechWarriors,” Grace said by way of introduction as she walked toward him. Again, no surprise, her table was now occupied by men who headed small suburban communities around Little London. The Council was whoever the Council said it was.

“This is Ben Lone Cat, once a Nova Cat, and this is Betsy Ross, an expert in infantry tactics. I hired them.”

“You hired them?” Dev Coughlin, who still sat at Garry’s right, jumped up. “You did not have permission to hire anyone when you left here.”

Grace would have to put a stop to this right now. “Dev, I had authority to commit as much as ten percent of what profits were generated on Alkalurops last year. I also had to hire them. It takes almost six weeks to travel here, one-way. People do not come here for interviews. They come here for jobs.”

Garry pulled on the sleeve of his crony, and Dev sat down. “I can see how you might have left with that impression,” Garry began soothingly. “Why don’t you give us a few minutes to talk to your, ah, associates. We do need help, and if you think these fine people can defend Alkalurops, we should hire them.”

“Who will be defending whom?” Ben said to Grace.

“Just let them get comfortable,” Grace said. Chairs were produced, but that caused a debate on where to set them. Finally, a space was cleared on the side at right angles to Garry and Dev.

“See the nice animals,” Betsy said, her smile showing plenty of teeth. “Grace, assure them we haven’t bitten anyone lately.”

“And, dear Betsy, I thought you were about due for your rabies shot,” Ben said, disproving Grace’s conviction the man was incapable of humor—she hoped.

“Young lady,” Garry said to Betsy, “I didn’t catch what merc unit you were from.”

The olive-skinned woman smiled at him. “I didn’t say.”

“How can we get references from them if we don’t know them?”

Betsy laughed, a clear bell of an affair. Beside her, Ben muffled a chuckle, and Grace began to suspect today was not going to go as she planned. “Old man, I would not ask any of my former employers for references. I can’t recall one that would admit to having employed me, and I can’t think of one I would want to admit to being employed by.”

“Every good employee carries references,” Dev said.

“For jobs like maid or street sweeper,” Betsy shot back. “But that’s not what you want. You need someone who can kill a man five ways before his body hits the ground. You want a commander who can turn your town into a death trap for any ’Mech stupid enough to stalk your streets. People like that don’t come with fine pedigrees and completed paperwork. We are few, and we are rarely remembered fondly.”

“Turn our streets into death traps,” came in a gasp from several mayors. “What would that involve?” Garry asked.

“A ’Mech with a long-range rocket or laser can pick off what it wants, be it a man or a building. Out on the battlefield, you have to work hard to get close to a ’Mech without it making you very dead. I understand that quite a few of your local Constabulary, hired, no doubt, with full paperwork, ended up quite dead when they took on ’Mechs across grassy fields. Grace told us she barely survived her first battle.” Betsy stood, eyed the room, and walked around her chair. She continued, her body swaying gently on the balls of her feet.

“Grace survived because she had the luck of a few well-placed boulders—a few firing positions where the rolling hills rolled in her favor. With worse luck, she would be dead.

“If you want to kill ’Mechs, you hire ’Mechs. None being available, you train infantry in the fun sport of ’Mech hunting. It’s a sport best done in towns, where you know the sewers and basements.” She whirled to address the foot of the table. “I didn’t see many power lines on the drive in. Are they underground?”

“Yes,” a technician behind Garry answered. “The tornadoes and winds would whip them around all the time. We put them underground years ago.”

“So you have tunnels under your streets filled with com cables and power cables,” she said. Around the table a lot of mayors nodded.

“Good. We can pull the cables out and put explosives in. A ’Mech strolls by, we detonate the charge, and poof; no ’Mech.”

“But what would we do for electricity?” objected several around the table. “That’s our infrastructure. It cost money!”

“And you don’t think defense should cost anything?”

“Your salaries, of course,” Garry said, “but, but—”

“Grace, you might want to fill these folks in on your hiring efforts,” Betsy said, but didn’t sit down.

“I went to four merc units on Galatea. I got four cost estimates for a battalion-sized task force of ’Mechs, armor and infantry with support.” Grace read off the prices of each offer. Around the table mouths fell open, while others whistled softly.

“But we could never pay that,” Garry finally said. “We’ve never had to pay anything like that.”

Betsy barked a harsh laugh. “In The Republic you didn’t have to. One Knight shows up and everybody starts making nicey-nicey. Now your Legate’s dead and no Knight’s in sight. Folks, the HPG is dead, the night is full of hungry wolves, and you’re bare-ass naked to a cold winter wind.”

“Young lady, mind your language,” Garry demanded.

“You want me to mind my language, but you’ve already had your first visit from wolves that didn’t mind your gavel. Do you want to defend yourselves?” Betsy asked, slowly turning to let her eyes circle the room. “Or do you plan on throwing yourselves on the tender mercies of those who will rob, rape and kill you?”