"Williamson, Michael Z - Freehold 03 - Better to Beg Forgiveness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Michael Z. Williamson - Freehold (BAEN) (v5) [htm jpg])

corporate mid execs. If you wanted someone with that skill set and talent, who'd put themselves between
their employer and an incoming bullet, you had to pay.Contractor had been the polite term for a long
time now, but the proper term wasmercenary .

They were on contract to guard Balaji Bishwanath, the incoming temporary president of Celadon on
Salin. Celadon was a backwater haven for terrorists and pirates, and enough events had finally happened
to draw notice to those facts. The UN Forces were pacifying it, at least on paper, and the Bureau of
State moved in the interim president selected by the Colonial Alliance while a new, functioning
government was created. Many of the gangs, syndicates, clans, and tribes didn't want the peace
Bishwanath promised. Contingents from every faction on the planet wanted him dead.


That wouldn't really matter in the long run. More troops would come until the UN/Alliance's goal was
accomplished. But as with common criminals, there was a mind-set with certain people that such fights
were "winnable." It was only fair, and professional, to give Bishwanath proper security presence while
things settled down. The fact that he was seen as such a figurehead was, in fact, a boost to his credibility.

That wouldn't really matter in the long run. More troops would come until the UN/Alliance's goal was
accomplished. But as with common criminals, there was a mind-set with certain people that such fights
were "winnable." It was only fair, and professional, to give Bishwanath proper security presence while
things settled down. The fact that he was seen as such a figurehead was, in fact, a boost to his credibility.

Money was one of the big appeals, Alex admitted to himself.

He replied, "The execs want to invest inЧby which they mean exploitЧa developing economy, and
need protection from the exploited. There's an occasional correspondent who can afford our rates for a
few days who might sign on, too. That's Corporate's job. We're Operations. We beat on enraged
peasants and dedicated assassins, and cash our checks. Do it well, I'll give you a good review, Corp will
find you jobs."

"I'll do my best."

Bishwanath rated more than six guards. They were just his immediate circle of "civilian" guards. Around
and outside were plans for eighty-four more, four platoons of what were called Long Range
Reconnaissance troops. At one time, such were called "Special Operations," but the euphemisms were all
designed to make the military sound not quite so violent to an increasingly sensitive culture. A decadent,
wimpy one in Alex's opinion.

Alex, Bart, Elke, and Jason all knew a cross section of those Recon soldiers. They'd served with them
or across from them. Shaman Mbuto and Aramis Anderson hadn't moved in that circle, but Shaman had
an existing history and was respected. Anderson was the new guy and took it personally. At the same
time, youthful troops were valuable in part because of their need to prove themselves. They could be
prevailed upon to perform suicidally dangerous tasks, and sometimes survive. Older, more cynical
personnel were not so image driven. Not that Alex intended to waste the kid cavalierly, but if heroics
were called for, it was Anderson he was going to call upon to jump on the grenade.

For now they were en route to Celadon and casually dressed. Much of this contract would be in suits, in
limos and offices but it would also be outside at times, though, and Mahore, the capital of Celadon, was
in a tropical latitude near sea level. It ran warm and muggy. Vaughn and Anderson fit suits right off the
rack and looked great, wonderfully photogenic. Elke needed hers tailored, but with her short, fluffy hair