Part 9 (1/2)
”And you think he did?” Laura asked. ”Boris wouldn't lie to you. Stop that!” she added hastily. ”You have an appointment.”
”It can wait.”
”With only a couple of dozen cars on this whole planet and one of them coming for you, you will not keep it waiting while you make love to your wife, George Hamner!”
Her eyes flashed, but not with anger. ”Besides, I want to know what Boris told you.”
She danced away from him, and he went back to the desk.
”It's not just that,” George said. ”I've been thinking about it. Those troops don't look like misfits to me. Off duty they drink, and they've got the field hands locking their wives and daughters up, but you know, come morning they're out on that drill field.
And Falkenberg doesn't strike me as the type who'd put up with undisciplined men.”
”But-”
He nodded. ”But it doesn't make sense. And there's the matter of the officers. He's got too many, and they're not from Hadley. That's why I'm going out there tonight, without Bradford.”
”Have you asked Ernie about it?”
”Sure. He says he's got some Party loyalists training as officers. I'm a little slow, Laura, but I'm not that stupid. I may not notice everything, but if there were fifty Progressives with military experience I'd know. Bradford is lying, and why?”
Laura looked thoughtful and pulled her lower lip in a gesture that Hamner hardly noticed now, although he'd kidded her about it before they were married. ”He lies for practice,” she said. ”But his wife has been talking about independence, and she let something slip about when Ernie would be President she'd make some changes.”
”Well, Ernie expects to succeed Budreau.”
”No,” Laura said. ”She acted like it would be soon. Very soon.”
George Hamner shook his ma.s.sive head. ”He hasn't the guts for a coup,” he said firmly. ”And the technicians would walk out in a second. They can't stand him and he knows it.”
”Ernest Bradford has never recognized any limitations,” Laura said. ”He really believes he can make anyone like him if he'll just put out the effort. No matter how many times he's kicked a man, he thinks a few smiles and apologies will fix it. But what did Boris tell you about Falkenberg?”
”Said he was as good as we can get. A top Marine commander, started as a Navy man and went over to Marines because he couldn't get fast enough promotions in the Navy.”
”An ambitious man. How ambitious?”
”Don't know.”
”Is he married?”
”I gather he once was, but not for a long time. I got the scoop on the court martial.
There weren't any slots open for promotion. But when a review board pa.s.sed Falkenberg over for a promotion that the admiral couldn't have given him in the first place, Falkenberg made such a fuss about it that he was dismissed for insubordination.”
”Can you trust him, then?” Laura asked. ”His men may be the only thing keeping you alive-”
”I know. And you, and Jimmy, and Christie, and Peter. ... I asked Boris that, and he said there's no better man available. You can't hire CD men from active duty. Boris recommends him highly. Says troops love him, he's a brilliant tactician, has experience in troop command and staff work as well-”
”Sounds like quite a catch.”
”Yes. But Laura, if he's all that valuable, why did they boot him out? My G.o.d, it all sounds so trivial-”
The interphone buzzed, and Hamner answered it absently. It was the butler to announce that his car and driver were waiting. ”I'll be late, sweetheart. Don't wait up for me. But you might think about it ... I swear Falkenberg is the key to something, and I wish I knew what.”
”Do you like him?” Laura asked.
”He isn't a man who tries to be liked.”
”I asked if you like him.”
”Yes. And there's no reason to. I like him, but can I trust him?”
As he went out he thought about that. Could he trust Falkenberg? With Laura's life .
. . and the kids . . . and for that matter, with a whole planet that seemed headed for h.e.l.l and no way out.
The troops were camped in an orderly square. Earth ramparts had been thrown up around the perimeter, and the tents were pitched in lines that might have been laid with a transit.
The equipment was scrubbed and polished, blanket rolls were tight, each item in the same place inside the two-man tents . . . but the men were milling about, shouting, gambling openly in front of the campfires. There were plenty of bottles in evidence even from the outer gates.
”Halt! Who's there?”
Hamner started. The car had stopped at the barricaded gate, but Hamner hadn't seen the sentry. This was his first visit to the camp at night, and he was edgy. ”Vice President Hamner,” he answered.
A strong light played on his face from the opposite side of the car. Two sentries, then, and both invisible until he'd come on them. ”Good evening, sir,” the first sentry said. ”I'll pa.s.s the word you're here.”
He raised a small communicator to his lips. ”Corporal of the Guard, Post Number Five.” Then he shouted the same thing, the call ringing clear in the night. A few heads around campfires turned toward the gate, then went back to their other activities.
Hamner was escorted across the camp to officers' row. The huts and tent stood across a wide parade ground from the densely packed company streets of the troops and had their own guards.
Over in the company area the men were singing, and Hamner paused to listen.
”I've a head like a concertina, and I think I'm ready to die, and I'm here in the clink for a thundrin' drink and blacking the Corporal's eye. With another man's cloak underneath of my head and a beautiful view of the yard, it's the c.r.a.paud for me, and no more System D, I was Drunk and Resistin' the Guard! Mad drunk and resistin' the guard!”
Falkenberg came out of his hut. ”Good evening, sir. What brings you here?”
I'll just bet you'd like to know, Hamner thought. ”I - have a few things to discuss with you, Colonel. About the organization of the constabulary.”
”Certainly.” Falkenberg was crisp and seemed slightly nervous. Hamner wondered if he were drunk. ”Shall we go to the Mess?” Falkenberg asked. ”More comfortable there, and I haven't got my quarters made up for visitors.”
Or you've got something here I shouldn't see, George thought. Something or someone. Local girl? What difference does it make? G.o.d, I wish I could trust this man.
Falkenberg led the way to the ranch house in the center of officers row. The troops were still shouting and singing, and a group was chasing each other on the parade ground. Most were dressed in the blue and yellow garrison uniforms. Falkenberg had designed, but others trotted past in synthi-leather battledress. They carried rifles and heavy packs.
”Punishment detail,” Falkenberg explained. ”Not as many of those as there used to be.”
Sound crashed from the Officers' Mess building: drums and bagpipes, a wild sound of war mingled with shouted laughter. Inside, two dozen men sat at a long table as white-coated stewards moved briskly about with whiskey bottles and gla.s.ses.
Kilted bandsmen marched around the table with pipes. Drummers stood in one corner. The deafening noise stopped as Falkenberg entered, and everyone got to his feet.