Carnifex

Executive Mansion, Hamilton, FD, 17/7/467

The President was shocked. "He wants two thousand tons of gold? Two-fucking-thousand?"

Malcolm sighed. "He wanted two thousand, seven hundred, but has agreed to settle for two thousand plus the difference in FSD. Oh, and he wants the right to buy some things directly through our channels: radios, night vision equipment, some ordnance. Plus intelligence support."

"What? Not tanks and up-to-date aircraft?"

Again, Malcolm sighed. "When he insisted on the right to buy items that's what I thought he wanted. I offered, as a bargaining chip. But, no, the fucker's very happy with his mix of major equipment now. He only wants the radios for commonality and interoperability, and the ordnance and night vision because ours is incrementally better than what he can buy elsewhere."

The President scowled as if to say, If you had delivered the Taurans as you promised . . .

"Why gold?"

"It seems he's begun raising revenue by selling rights to the stuff to the rest of the world's very wealthy and very nervous. Based on what he's sold, against what we believe he's bought, he is overselling by quite a bit. I'm told that won't matter, as long as the price remains fairly stable and there's no run on his assets. I've got to warn you, Mr. President, that this much gold, if he uses it all to back his certificates, will make him completely independent and fully capable of waging war, or doing anything else he likes, completely on his own."

"How much of this is because we tried to cheat him?" the President asked.

"Maybe fifteen percent. It was a mistake, but with the press howling for blood it was perhaps an unavoidable mistake."

Malcolm's face grew thoughtful. "You know, Mr. President, we could hire a lot more troops from Latin Columbia and even western Taurus for this much money."

The President shrugged. "What would they do then? Insist on not being used for combat? Insist on being deployed someplace we don't need them? No non-Islamic government can stand the prospect of casualties anymore. They can't even stand the prospect of enemy casualties. And noncombatants? No, it's your fucking mercenaries or nobody."

Malcolm refrained from answering, Unfortunately, they're not my mercenaries.