The Price of Glory

For once, business was good in town. It looked as though the fleet was in.

Helmdown's starport was a dried lakebed that had served as landing field for space-borne commerce in the days of the Star League. In those times, Helm's principal port was Freeport, some five hundred kilometers to the southeast. Helmdown had had a port of its own, too, one that needed that expanse of lake bed to handle the merchanter ships from space. With the grounding of the Marik DropShips, it seemed as though the prosperous times had returned. Grayson and King stood beside their skimmer, staring through a chainlink fence at six massive UnionClass DropShips.

"They've got their guard posted," Grayson said. Even at a distance of over a kilometer, he could identify the massive, insect-like silhouette of a 70-ton Archer.

"O.K.," he continued. "We accounted for eight at Durandel . . . and we ran into twelve at Cleft Valley . . . twenty. One more here. Six DropShips means they could have a total of seventy-two 'Mechs on Helm ... or fifty-one more we haven't seen."

"You use a pessimistic version of arithmetic," King replied. "Some of those DropShips must have brought in the infantry we ran into."

"Agreed, but we don't have a good estimate on how much infantry they have here, either. They could still have another twenty . . . thirty 'Mechs down. Not good odds."

"Not the sort of odds I'd care to face." King looked thoughtful. "I suppose it could still be a rebel faction claiming to be the Free Worlds League government."

"Possibly ... if Janos Marik was dead, and his two top generals were at each others' throats, squabbling for the title of Captain-General. But you'd think they'd identify themselves as one faction or another, just to avoid confusion."

"We should probably move on into town. They'll have perimeter security people out." King nodded toward the distant heavy 'Mech. "And thosethings, too."

* * *

Helmdown was crowded. The streets and mallways between the low, white buildings were crowded with native Helmans, most in the baggy, coarse-woven tunics that King and Grayson also wore. Some native vehicles were evident, but most Helmans were on foot. Interspersed through the crowd were crewmen and soldiers off the Marik ships. The soldiers' pale green trousers, light torso armor, and soft purple caps made them stand out in the crowds. Most of them armed, but their weapons were holstered, and the way they walked in small groups through the crowds, pointing and talking among themselves, suggested that they had come to town more to see the sights than as an invading army. Occasionally, Marik skimmers or wheeled vehicles made their way slowly through the throng on some errand or another, but the sense of an official presencesuch as a conquering army would bring, was absent.

Grayson and King left their skimmer in a dirt lot filled with similar vehicles several streets away from the main thoroughfare.

"Not much of an invasion," King said.

"I was just thinking the same thing."

"We've got to find out what's happening. Now, you have your contact on Hogarth Street ..."

"Hey, when you want to know something," Grayson said. "You go to the source and ask."

He left King on the walkway and made his way toward a lone Marik soldier he had already spotted a few meters away.

"Hey, soldier!" Grayson said. He had considered affecting the slight drawl of Helman speech, then thought better of it. Caricatures of speech were easily recognized as such, and the local speech patterns were not that obtrusive.

The soldier turned at Grayson's call and watched him warily, but without evident hostility. He kept his hands on his hips, however, his right finger close by the butt of the holstered sonic stu

"Yessir. Ah, you see, I just got into town, and I was wondering what all the fuss was about."

Grayson was watching carefully for signs that he had said the wrong thing—the flaring of nostril or pupil, the tensing of muscles in hand or shoulder—but the soldier just gri

"You boys come in for maneuvers? I don't think we've seen this many spaceships landed all at the same time out there on the lakebed for years." Grayson's choice of words was deliberate, though casually spoken—he hoped.

Spaceshipinstead of Dropship. Landedinstead of grounded.The differences should mark him as a grounder, a farmer who had done more than look at the stars in the night sky.

The soldier snorted. "Maneuvers? Yeah, I guess you could say so. You got your papers?"

The words were spoken so casually that it took a fractional moment before Grayson registered. "Papers?"

The soldier's hand was out, gesturing. "Yes, grounder, your papers. The notices have been posted all over the district for a week. Let's see 'em."

Grayson had a choice. He could pretend to reach for nonexistent papers while watching for an opening to break and run, or he could claim blank i

He set his jaw at what he hoped was a stubborn angle. "I ain't seen nothing about papers. What kind of hustle are you trying to pull on me?"

Grayson had half-expected the man to pull his gun, but the soldier simply looked tired. "No papers?"

Grayson decided to try the offensive. He leaned back on his heels and bellowed. "Whatdamned papers?"

Throughout the crowd, heads turned toward them. The soldier reached forward, dropping one hand on Grayson's shoulder. Grayson tensed, ready to counter or deliver a blow, but something in the Marik trooper's ma

"Look, see that flag up the street?" The soldier pointed toward the center of town. "What used to be the Planetary Council's offices? That's the Planetary Administrator's headquarters now. Right in front, there's a booth set up. You go talk to the officer there, and he'll give you your papers. O.K.?"

"I see it. Now would you mind telling me what it's all about?”

"The planet of Helm is under the direct rule of House Marik, now. The Captain-General has appointed an Administrator to run things for the duration of the crisis."

"The Captain-General . . . Janos Marik?"

"You know another Captain-General?"

"Uh . . . no, I just don't have the damnedest idea what's going on. Crisis? What crisis?"

"You just go talk to Captain Biggs at that booth in front of the Helm Council building. He'll tell you all about it."

The soldier's tone suggested that he thought Grayson might be simple-minded, and Grayson decided not to press the man further, or to disabuse him of his notion. "Yessir," he said.

King was waiting where Grayson had left him.

"Well, I suppose that's one way to remain inconspicuous," the Tech said. "Scream and shout and get everybody looking."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." Grayson sketched in what little he'd learned. "Looks like Janos Marik is still in power, and these troops are loyal to him. They've moved in to run things during the . . . crisis, whatever that is. Damn! I wish to hell I knew what was going on!"

"Think it has something to do with us?"

"It must. Those were Marik regulars at Durandel. We've got to find out why ..."