"Heidigger Dome has hired Flotilla Blanche," Dan said. "Carolina's got the Warcocks. We could handle either one of them without problems. If Blackhorse alone faces both of them together, then that's all she wrote. For us. And for you."
Johnnie expected Dan to undercut the weight of his words with a shrug or a grin. Instead, the mercenary officer's voice was as emotionless as that of the dome politician a moment before.
"Yes," said the Senator, "of course. So you'll have to associate another fleet for the duration."
Senator Gordon's penthouse was designed to impress, but it was a working office as well. Johnnie flipped up the right armrest of his chair to expose the keypad there. His fingertips began to summon data while his eyes flicked back and forth between the older men.
"We need to associate another fleet," said Dan, the emphasis making clear there was more than agreement in the words. "But no other fleet will deal with us. Nobody I trust."
Holograms of the three fleets sprang to life in the air on either flank of the desk: Blackhorse to the Senator's right in blue symbols, Flotilla Blanche and the Warcocks to the left in red and orange respectively.
Senator Gordon looked startled. He glanced about the room for a moment before he noticed his son's hand on the keypad. Dan's eyes narrowed, but there was no other change in his expression.
The Senator's focus returned to the core of the discussion.
"That's not good enough," he said, slapping the words out like a poker player showing his hand a card at a time. "The retainer Wenceslas Dome has paid you over the past five years has made the Blackhorse the most powerful fleet on Venus . . . and the most profitable. If you're trying to cut corners now, you're going to regret it."
He pointed his index finger. It looked white and pudgy compared to the mercenary's sinews and mahogany tan, but there was no doubting the reality of the threat the gesture implied. "You will, Daniel. And Admiral Bergstrom. And every member of the Blackhorse."
"I didn't say the other fleets rejected the deals we were offering, Arthur," Dan answered calmly. "I said they wouldn't deal with us at all."
For an instant, his lips curved into a grin as humorless as the edge of a fighting knife. "We of the Blackhorse have done very well from our association with Wenceslas, as you say. Unfortunately, others have noticed that and decided to . . . do something about the matter."
Dan pointed at the columns of blue ships. "Leaving us with that," he said. "And you with that as well, Arthur . . . because I don't think your idea of a Federation of Venus is any more popular among your peers than the Blackhorse is with ours."
There were eighteen dreadnoughts in the display's first blue column, but two of the symbols were carated: ships so seriously damaged in battle three months before that they were still out of service.
Across from the Blackhorse array were twelve red battleships and ten orange. One of the latter symbols was marked with a flashing carat, indicating it was doubtful. Because of the long association, Wenceslas Dome's data bank had much better information on the Blackhorse than on any of the other fleets.
In light forces, the disparity of strength was even more marked. Each of the three companies had a pair of the carriers which bore gliders and light surface vessels into the battle zone. The orange and red columns showed an advantage of two to one in cruisers and three to two in destroyers.
Only in submarines did the Blackhorse rise to near equality with its combined opponents. Near equality is a synonym for inferiority.
"Why hasn't Admiral Bergstrom told me this?" the Senator asked quietly. Before there could be an answer, he rephrased the question: "Why are you telling me this, Daniel?"
"Admiral Bergstrom doesn't like to bear bad news," Dan said. "He thinks there must be a way out, though he doesn't see one. Captain Haynes thinks there is a way out. Haynes was one of the founding members of the Angels, and he's convinced that he can bring Admiral Braun into an agreement with us."
Johnnie's fingers tapped the keypad.
"And you think?" the Senator prompted in a voice as dry as the sound of a rattlesnake sliding over leaves.
"I think there's a way to win, yes," said the mercenary. "But neither Bergstrom nor Haynes are going to find it."
The Angels' forces now hung in slate-gray holograms alongside those of the Blackhorse. The smaller company was lopsidedly weak in cruisers and destroyers, and they had no carriers at all. When the Angels operated alone, they had to depend instead on skimmers launched from their dreadnoughts to keep hostile hydrofoils and surface-effect torpedoboats at bay.
But the Angels did have five battleships; and the nine 18-inch guns mounted on the newest of them, the Holy Trinity, made her a match for any ship on the planet in a one-to-one slugfest.