Free Soldiers Out of Time by Steve White

warrens of Khankhazh’s criminal district—which, of course, officially did not exist, but whose status was generally recognized and confirmed by a well-established schedule of bribes. The room was redolent of the—to modern human eyes—almost pathological overelaboration of decorative motifs and oddly contrasted colors that characterized Zirankh’shi interiors. They sipped cups of the mildly stimulating herbal beverage called tchova , and smelled the disturbingly ambiguous delightful/repulsive aromas that clung to all Zirankh’shi residences, as McGillicuddy continued.
    “I thought they had really caught on to concepts like freedom and democracy. I thought they were going to kick this decomposing corpse of an empire apart and set up something along modern lines—something we could do business with. And think of the opportunities that would open up! You have no idea of the potential of this planet, if the Manziru Empire could just be swept out of the way! I was determined to help them . . . even to the extent of a little gunrunning.” Catching sight of Rojas’ glare, he hastened to explain. “Hey, nothing really up to date—no plasma guns or anything of that sort. Just gauss rifles and electromagnetic grenade launchers and such. What do you think I am?”
    Rojas’ continued glare gave that question all the answer it required.
    “Well, anyway,” McGillicuddy hastened on, “I got caught in a little indiscretion, but the good Captain Chang here was willing to overlook it in exchange for my cooperation in certain matters. And besides . . .” All at once his eyes turned inward and his expression turned grim. “By that time I had seen the Dazh’Pinkh from the inside out, in the territories they control. And I knew I had been wrong. They’ve learned a bunch of the right slogans, but that’s just a way of sucking in gullible humans . . . like me,” he admitted ruefully. “Mind you, they may have had some worthwhile ideals at first. But now everybody in their territory except the leaders of the movement are slaves, herded into forced labor compounds—that’s how they interpret ‘democracy’—while the leaders live like the emperor, and everyone who protests is exterminated. And everyone who doesn’t get slaughtered is dying of famine, thanks to their mismanagement of everything.”
    “In short, a typical revolutionary movement,” said Jason, who had observed twentieth-century Earth and its assorted “liberators.”
    “The one thing about the Dazh’Pinkh that works,” McGillicuddy went on, “is the army. You can be sure they get enough to eat, and whenever they’re not terrorizing the civilian population—which keeps it too terrified to even think about resisting—their discipline is brutal. And they’ve got some competent generals. The imperial army is bigger and better armed, but it’s useless—a festering mass of demoralized troops and corrupt officers, commanded by court favorites who aren’t fit to dig latrines.”
    “So you think the Dazh’Pinkh are going to win?” Mondrago querried.
    “No. You see, I’m not going to let them.”
    For a moment McGillicuddy’s listeners were silent in the face of sublime certitude.
    “You?” Jason finally managed.
    “That’s right. I’m organizing a mercenary company that will work under an exclusive contract with the imperial government. And once we start scoring some victories, the other free companies will stop offering themselves to either side. Nothing succeeds like success! Just wait; I’ll bring them all into an umbrella organization.”
    “Won’t this ‘exclusive contract’ make you, except by a lawyer’s quibble, simply part of the imperial army?” Mondrago wanted to know. “And won’t that violate Earth’s position of neutrality?”
    “Ah, but I won’t be working for the Earth government! So their hands will be clean. Even a fuddy-duddy like Patel understands that.” Chang, who had been maintaining scrupulous