A Private Little War(102)

“Okay,” Carter said. “So tell me why we don’t just throw in the towel and pull out now?”

Fenn answered for Eddie. “Because there’s still a thirty percent chance things might go our way, isn’t there? According to Mr. Fast Eddie’s calculations. And a thirty percent chance is better than a guaranteed loss any day.”

“Captain Teague is correct,” Eddie said, making a gun out of his fingers and firing a round at Fenn, making a popping sound with his lips. He was slurring now, just enough to be noticeable. And his eyes seemed to have come unstuck in their sockets, rolling slowly skyward whenever Eddie wasn’t paying close attention. “That’s what I’ve been able to determine since then, talking with some people. The company cannot afford to get itself involved in a fight with NRI or the Colonial Council, so they’ve made it look like we’re operating here without corporate control. If we all die here, there’s nothing that’ll make them legally liable. But there is still a chance that things could swing our way. And then we’d be heroes. ‘Heroes, Eddie.’ That’s what one of them said to me. Someone from somewhere… Because with no other military contractors operating here, most of the continent would be Flyboy’s for the taking. It puts our negotiators in a very strong position. It really is as simple as that.”

“Right,” said Carter. “Simple.”

“The only thing we’ve got going for us,” Eddie continued, “is that the Lassateirra would have to fight their way across the river, then march forty miles from there to here while being shot up and bombed by everything we’ve got the whole way. I figure that gives us maybe two days, two and a half, from the moment we know the Lassateirra have begun to move against us until the end actually comes. If it all goes bad. So that’s two days for a smuggler or a blockade runner, a transport to get here, transition, land and pull us out. That is if there’s one in range, if he or she can be talked into doing it. If, if, if… I make our odds on that long but not impossible.”

“How long?” Carter asked.

Eddie lost control of his eyes again, pupils running for his perfect hairline. For a minute, he said nothing. His tongue, stained purple from the wine, poked from the corner of his mouth. Fenn and Carter had another frantic, silent conference—all pointing and eyebrows and mouthed obscenities.

“Ten-to-one,” Eddie finally said. “But that’s just a round… uh…”

“Guess?”

“A round guess. Exactly. I have certain, uh… Under extraordinary circumstances, I have certain powers and freedoms to make executive decisions. Ted and me together. There are orders and abilities, yes, to call in a recovery mission and to pay for it out of a fund. Gold or something. I have orders. But anyway, like you guys said, it doesn’t matter, right? The company will come for us. You guys have never been abandoned before, right? Because you said. You said they’re not going to just bury us here.”

Sure, they said. Absolutely, Eddie. Nothing at all to worry yourself over, Eddie. Happens all the time.

And then, as quickly as the words had come to them, they dried up. Silence rushed back in to fill the vacuum. Carter touched his throat. Fenn brought a hand up to touch his forehead, to scratch an itch just below his hairline. He seemed surprised when his fingers didn’t come back bloody. They were dead. Everything else was just waiting.

“This is probably why no one invites insurance adjusters to nice parties,” Fenn said under his breath. Eddie laughed wetly. Carter didn’t at all. He asked about Ted and Connelly—what they’d been talking about, why they were meeting. This had been the original topic of conversation before they’d become sidetracked by the scrying of actuaries, the pie-chart war in poor Eddie’s head.

“A trade,” Eddie said, chin bobbing and lips bubbling wetly as he spoke. His eyes were like fat glass beads now, pushed into a doughy face. When he closed them, he looked like a waxwork, something from the lawyer museum. “His help at what he’s good at for ours at what we do…” He faded for a moment, lips pursed, pecking kisses at the air, but he pulled up again. “Connelly is smart, you know? Dumb but smart. He sees this whole whatever same as Ted and me. The lines—unbalanced in the middle, going to fold at the first sign of trouble. Connelly wants to go in and take Southbend now. Immediately. Before things get worse. Says that drops are coming in on the moors. Delivery. Off-world. We don’t know because we can’t see, but Connelly has scouts. Spies. The Akaveen… They want Riverbend worse. They’re massing there, leaving Connelly with just his natives and a small holding force to the south, but he wants to make a move anyway, under air cover. Bombers to breach the walls. Ted, though. Ted is just, whoo…” Eddie laughed and buzzed the palm of his hand over his head, eyes blowing out wide like valves opening straight into his skull. “Ted wants some defense on the ground. He wants something standing in front of him when the bad guys arrive. They’re making a deal. Us in the air for Connelly’s second company here as a security force. Also, Connelly wants a safe place to receive an orbital drop. Ted’s offering the airfield in exchange for a cut. Just arguing over how big a share. That’s what they were doing when the captain here…” Eddie pointed to the stove. “Here.” He corrected, pointing to the door. “Came to my rescue with your tricky custody battle to resolve.” He smiled softly then, and Carter felt as though he could almost see the weeks of worry vaporizing through the pickets of his teeth. Rage spent, fears allayed. Now Eddie was just shitfaced. “Hope my services were beneficial to you guys. Okay if I take a nap here?”