CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

>"YOU DISAPPOINT ME, Colonel," Parral said gently.

"Ah?" Sten questioned.

"I thought all soldiers were hard drinkers. Poets. Men, I believe someone wrote, who have an appointment with death."

Sten sloshed the still-untouched pool of cognac in the snifter and smiled slightly.

"Most soldiers I've known," he observed dryly, "would rather help someone else make that appointment."

Parrel's glass was also full.

The two men sat in Parrel's art-encrusted library. It was hours later, and the fete had broken up with excited buzzings and laughter. Parral had let Alex and Sten freshen and change in his chambers and then had wanted to talk to Sten alone.

Reluctantly Alex, Kurshayne, Ffillips. and Vosberh had left the mansion. After all, Sten had pointed out reasonably. I'm in no particular danger. No one except an absolute drakh-brain would kill his mercenary captain before the war's won.

"I find you fascinating, Colonel," Parral observed, touching his glass to his lips. "First, we in the Lupus Cluster are… somewhat isolated from the mainstream of Imperial culture. Second, none of us have had the advantage of dealing with a professional soldier. By the way, aren't you rather… young to have held your present office?"

"Bloody wars bring fast promotions," Sten said.

"Of course."

"The reason I asked you to stay behind is, of course, primarily personally to compliment your prowess as a warrior… and to gain a better knowledge of what you and your people intend."

"We intend winning a war for you and for the Prophet Theodomir," Sten said, being deliberately obtuse.

"No war lasts forever."

"Of course not."

"You assume victory, then?"

"Yes."

"And after that victory?"

"After we win," Sten said, "we collect our pay and look for another war."

"A rootless existence… Perhaps… Perhaps," Parral continued, staring intently into his snifter, "you and your men might find additional employment here."

"In what capacity?"

"Do you not find it odd that we have two cultures, both very similar, at each other's throats? Do you not find it odd that both of these cultures espouse a religious faith that you— a sophisticated man of the Galaxy—must find somewhat archaic?"

"I have learned never to question the beliefs of my clients."

"Perhaps you should, Sten. I know little of mercenaries, I admit. But what little my studies produce is that those who survived to die without their swords in hand became… shall we say, politically active?"

Parral waited for Sten's comment. None came.

"A man of your obvious capabilities…particularly a man who

could develop, let us say, personal interests in his clients, might find it more profitable to linger on after his contract was fulfilled, might he not?"

Sten stood and walked to one wall, and idly touched a gouache of a merchant's tools—microcomputer, money converter, beam scales, and a projectile weapon—that hung on the wall, then turned back to Parral.

"I gather," he said, "that the key to success as a merchant is an ability to fence with words. Unfortunately, I have none of that.

I would assume, Seigneur Parral, that what you are asking is that, after we destroy the Jannisars, you would wish us to remain on, with a contract to remove Theodomir."

Parral managed to look shocked. "I would never suggest such a thing."

"No. You wouldn't," Sten agreed.

"This evening has run extremely late, Colonel. Perhaps we should continue the discussion at a later date. Perhaps after more data have become available to you."

Sten bowed, set his full glass down on a bookcase, and walked to the door.