Carnifex

7/7/467 AC, War Department, Hamilton, FD

Kenneth O'Meara-Temeroso squirmed in his chair in Malcolm's plush office. He couldn't, he just couldn't, do what the secretary was demanding of him. Besides, it was Malcolm who had sent him to Sumer expressly to fire, hurt, and humiliate Carrera. How could he go back and beg for help now?

"It won't even work," O'Meara-Temeroso objected. "It's a waste of time. That bastard will never forgive us for trying to stiff him. And he won't take the pain he caused us by pulling out so abruptly as sufficient payback, either."

Malcolm smiled warmly. His tan seemed particularly orange today, to match. "I don't care if you have to suck his dick. I want troops for Pashtia and I want them fast."

Whatever his failings, and they were many, ranging from obesity to a remarkable arrogance coupled with stupidity, O'Meara-Temeroso was still, at least arguably, a man. This was too much. "You suck his dick. I'm resigning."

And with that he stood, abruptly turned, and walked out.

One worthless, arrogant bureaucrat gone, mused Malcolm. Hmmmm; who might this Carrera person listen to? Hmmmm . . .

"Suzy," Malcolm said pleasantly into the intercom, "get me General Rivers, would you?"

* * *

"I remember his last words on the subject very distinctly, Mr. Secretary. He said, 'We'll keep track and when you come looking to hire us again everything you've cost us will be added to our fee, with interest from today.' Are you prepared to pay that, Mr. Secretary? The bill is going to be enormous. And since we tried to send funds Carrera considered due to his organization to another, the national government of Balboa, he's not going to give us credit."

"What do you think he'll charge us?"

"As much as he can squeeze. In fact, as much as he thinks it takes to hurt us. We pissed him off pretty badly and he is not the . . . forgiving type."

"But he needs money," Malcolm objected. "He doesn't have a national tax base to pay for his war machine."

"Someone—we think the Yamatans—are funneling a great deal of money to him right now. And he already had quite a lot. I don't think he's hurting."

Malcolm sighed, bleakly. It was so . . . frankly inconceivable, that a mere mercenary should be so difficult. Ah, well. Needs must . . .

"General Rivers, I want you to go see him and see what he'll take. Don't commit us to anything yet. See what he might take that isn't in the form of dollars. The President doesn't want to go to congress over this. Maybe we have something he wants . . . weapons . . . gold . . . I dunno. But the President wants him and what the President wants—"

"I'll leave day after tomorrow, Mr. Secretary. But I can't promise anything."