By William C. Dietz
Colonel Stell and his band of mercenaries yearn for a spot to name home.
To them Freehold is sort of a vivid diamond within the colossal universe. yet its wasteland stipulations, fiscal instability, social disarray, and political turmoil render the planet excellent for takeover. keen to struggle whatever that stands of their approach, Colonel Stell and his small team deal with all who search to dominate their planet, even massive interstellar empires. Their good fortune are not decided via their measurement yet by way of their solution to create a house for themselves.
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Extra resources for Freehold
Station, at least, showed no indication to them that Viking was in any way nervous about their presence. He didn't hear any word of special security arrangements from station officials, didn't hear any advisement from Marie whatsoever that there was a history between Sprite and a ship already in dock—just a welcome in from station, a little chatter of a friendly nature, a little exchange of names and procedures. w. c bu to re he C lic k he k lic C w. 0 bu y rm er Y F T ra n sf o ABB PD er Y A free port meant no customs to speak of, the way he'd understood the briefing, at least not the usual meticulous accounting of goods carried in.
A loader was working somewhere. Human voices were very small, on the dockside, easily overwhelmed by the clash and bang of metal. Capella caught his arm and spun him about. "Better bribe the mechanics," Capella said, with her curious faculty for realism, drunk or sober. "Cheaper than station brig, Chrissy-lad. Which we could all be in if we screw this. You got to sober up, spaceman. We got to get a watch on that ship when it comes in. " "We get the cargo moving," he said. That was the absolute priority.
Christian sighed and subsided into the chair. " "Hour! It's been an hour! Let's just screw it. " "A round's coming. " Capella sighed. Traced a circle in the condensation on the table. The hand had a fortune in rings. The wrist had a band of stars in tattoo, and below it, Bok's Equation, in ornate letters. Navigator's mark, in certain quarters. The hand captured his, amid the circles of two prior rounds and one double ice water. " w. c bu to re he C lic k he k lic C w. " Lavender lips quirked. "Chris-tian, they're not going to get that sum-bitch moving till alterday.