The Complete Hammer's Slammers, Vol. 1

Danny chuckled. No, when you really came down to it, he had only one real problem. Unfortunately, that one was insoluble.

"You're worried about Steuben, aren't you," Margritte said. The words weren't a question.

"Joachim, yes," Danny said, following the path of a low-flying aircar. It was probably a police patrol. The repeal of the ban on private aircars in Landfall City wouldn't come into effect till the end of the month, though a few citizens were anticipating it.

They were taking more of a risk than they probably realized. There were still military patrols out, and the Slammers' motto wasn't so much "Preserve and Protect" as "Shoot first and ask questions later."

Danny grinned faintly. Troops blasting wealthy citizens out of the sky would make more problems for the Directorate of Administration, but relatively minor ones. A number of Nieuw Friesland's wealthy citizens had been gunned down in the recent past—the former owners of this palace among them.

He had a breathtaking view from this balcony. The palace was a rambling two-story structure, but it was built on the ridge overlooking Landfall City from the south. It'd belonged to Baron Herscholdt, the man who'd regarded himself as the power behind President van Vorn's throne though he stayed out of formal politics.

Herscholdt was out of life, now; he and his wife as well, because she'd gotten in the way when a squad of White Mice, the security troops under the direct command of Major Steuben, came for the baron.

Danny was used to being billeted in palaces. He was even used to the faint smell of burned flesh remaining even after the foyer'd been washed down with lye. What he wasn't used to was owning the palace; which he did, for as long as he lived. It was one of the perquisites of his government position.

For as long as he lived.

"Steuben has to go," Margritte said, hugging herself against more than the evening chill. "Can't the colonel see that? There's no place for him anymore."

"Joachim's completely loyal," Danny said. He tried to put an arm around his wife. Now she flinched away, too tense for even that contact. "He won't permit the existence of anything that threatens the colonel."

Danny sighed. "That works in a war zone," he said, letting out the words that'd spun in his mind for weeks. "We go in and then we leave. The people who hired us can blame everything that happened on us evil mercenaries. Then they can get on with governing without the bother of the folks who'd have been in opposition if we hadn't shot them."

Margritte shook her head angrily. "Maybe it'll work here too," she said. Her voice was thick, and Danny thought he caught the gleam of starlight on a tear. He looked away quickly.

"President Hammer isn't leaving this time," he explained quietly. "Shooting everybody who might be a threat will only work if you're willing to kill about ninety percent of the population."

He barked a laugh of sorts. "Which Joachim probably is," he added. "But it isn't possible, which is something else entirely."

"Steuben isn't stupid," Margritte said. She suddenly reached for Danny's hand and gripped it between hers; she still wouldn't turn to look at him. "He's . . . I don't think he's human, Danny, but I believe he really does love the colonel. Can't he see that unless he steps aside, the colonel's government can't survive?"

"There're fish that have to keep swimming to breathe," Danny said—to Margritte; to himself; to the night. "For Joachim, retirement would mean suffocating. He won't retire, and the colonel—"

He grimaced. He was trying to remember that Alois Hammer was no longer a mercenary leader and that Danny Pritchard was no longer his adjutant.

"And President Hammer," he went on, "won't force him out. The colonel—"

Again!

"—is loyal too. And besides, he needs a Director of Security. He knows as well as I do that there's nobody better at it than Joachim. Nobody. The problem is that Joachim's only willing to go at the job in one way, and that way's going to be fatal to the civil government."

Danny shook his head. "Maybe he can only go at it one way," he said. "I've known Joachim for half my life, but I won't pretend I understand what goes on in his head."

"He's a monster!" Margritte said to the night in sudden, fierce anger. She turned and glared at her husband. "Danny?" she said. "If he won't leave but he has to go . . . ?"

Danny laughed. He gave Margritte a quick hug, but that was to permit him to ease back and look toward the city before speaking.

"Sure," he said. "I've thought about killing Joachim. Having him killed. It'd be possible, though it might take a platoon of tanks to make sure of him."

He looked at his wife, his face hard in the starlight. Danny Pritchard was only a little over average height, but there were times—this one of them—that he seemed a much bigger man.