The Man Who Never Missed (22 page)

Systems Marshal Venture, Over-Befalhavare for all of the Orm System, looked at the holoproj before him. What was the boy so scared shitless about? Khadaji’s ammo consisted of 7612 rounds, from 10,000. Which meant he’d fired off, let’s see, ten minus two is eight, nine minus one—

Venture stared at the screen as if it had suddenly told him to go fuck himself. It couldn’t be. He checked his subtraction, but the numbers were right. Ten thousand darts. Take away those which had been recovered, seven thousand six hundred and twelve, and that meant the man had used twenty three hundred and eighty-eight. Venture’s gaze travelled across the holoproj’s split-screen to the number of poisoned Confederation troopers.

Two-three-eight-eight. The number was identical.

Venture looked up. “Are we certain of these figures, Lojt?”

“Yes sir. They’ve been checked and rechecked a dozen times.”

“Holy Buddha’s left nut,” Venture said softly. “I can’t believe it. The ratsucker was telling the truth! I will be goddamned.” The awe vanished, replaced by concern. “This can’t get out, Lojtnant. I want to see some altered figures, stat. Some of those troopers were shot with other small arms, some wounded by explosions and what-not, do you understand? I want the changes in the computer within the hour.”

“Sir.”

“I also want arrests made, a few of the ringleaders of the Scum, let the records show, say, fifty were caught and executed, understand?”

“Understood, sir.”

“One final thing. I want this damped. Anybody who came within a hundred meters of this information is to be cleaned thoroughly, this has got to be kept quiet! I don’t want any of the troops to talk about it to anybody, I don’t want rumors, I don’t want the slightest hint of these numbers to get out. The Confed Military will be made to look like morons, including me personally, and anyone in my command who does that will regret it in ways you could not begin to believe, you copy?”

“Yes sir.” The Lojt swallowed dryly.

But even as the young man executed a snappy about-face and marched from the office, Over-Befalhavare Venture knew it was probably too late. The soldiers’ comline was faster than White radio; what one man or woman knew would be passed to another, despite attempts to prevent it. The story would out, eventually. They could deny it, of course, and PR would begin working on it ASAP, but it would be even worse if it smelled like a cover-up. Ah, damn! Why? What could have been on the man’s mind, to take on an army, alone? And why give it up the way he did? The fucker must have been something else, too! One dart per trooper. Never missed. Buddha, wouldn’t that stir the fucking underground! One goddamned man! He had to know it would get around, maybe even arranged it, maybe he had allies in the Military. Damn!

Pease cleared her throat politely, but Venture ignored her. After a moment, she spoke anyway. “It doesn’t matter, sir, does it? I mean, the war on Greaves is over.”

Blind and stupid, he thought. Aloud, he said, “Yes, the war on Greaves is over.”

“And we won, sir.”

It seemed to take him a long time to look away from the holoproj and up at the woman before the desk. Won? He laughed, and then spoke as if to a slow child. “No, SubBefal Pease, we didn’t win. All we did was kill him—that goddamned miserable elbow-sucker Khadaji won!”

And, of course, Over-Befalhavare Venture didn’t know the half of it.

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