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make those appearances, but I must."

    Alex cringed. Yeah, he had issues with that. Huge ones. He glanced around. Elke was grinning, probably at the thought of gadgets and explosives. Aramis seemed to like the idea of being Billy Badass to the peasants. No doubt he could clobber several of them at once, but the idea was to avoid engagements when possible.

    Alex said all he could. "We'll manage. Do you have body armor yet, sir?"

    "I do, but could use advice on it."

    "Mister Weil will work with you. That's his field." In part because he'd done more actual close-in bodyguarding as opposed to combat missions. That would not be a good way to phrase it, however.

    "Thank you," Bishwanath said, and Bart nodded.

    "My pleasure, sir. I think I shall enjoy your attitude in contrast to some of the celebrities and corporate managers I've protected."

     

Chapter Three

    Bishwanath left an hour later. They knew his approximate itinerary for a week, and it was a packed one, and had learned some details about him.

    "So, how's everyone feel on this?" Alex asked.

    There wasn't any hesitation. Bart had the most experience as an actual bodyguard and said, "Good man. He won't cause a lot of problems or pull an attitude that I can see."

    "I also will work well with him," Elke said.

    "No problem," from Aramis. "He's honest and open."

    "He is a bit reserved in my area," Shaman said. "I will need to watch him, but I don't expect him to hinder me treating him."

    Jason said, "Things look so good as far as he's concerned, I expect everything else will be screwed up beyond belief."

    Alex nodded. "Good principal. We have most of our gear. The military has made contact. All we have to do for now is our job. Let's finish."

    There were nods and the work of setting up resumed.

    "These are severely nice digs," Elke said, the odd word choice garnishing her accent.

    "Yes, they are," Alex acknowledged. They each had a small but comfortable room, two shared bathrooms, and the common room decked out as conference or reception room with a living area near a vid console. He sighed and said, "Aramis, take your feet off the table, please. If you need a foot stool, there's one over there."

    "Hell, boss, they'll charge it off as wear and tear, no big deal." But he did comply, removing them from a very expensive octagonal table turned and carved from wood, and putting them down on a hand-stitched rug that had to have taken years. The issue was more a matter of the item's location than value. Still, feet didn't go on furniture. As long as he complied, the talking back was a quirk. Irritating, but a quirk.

    Getting settled in was a major operation. Weapons were now scattered about, though that "scatter" was intentional and precise, putting them within easy reach of anyone, anywhere in the room. Those weapons either had safety circuits disabled, or were programmed to recognize any of the team's grip or DNA to activate. Civilians and politicians insisted on the "safety" interrupts to prevent "criminal use." Criminals destroyed those circuits on stolen weapons, and professionals did so whenever they could get away with it, laws be damned. The circuit might work the first time 499 times out of five hundred. But Murphy said it was that five hundredth time your life would depend on instant operation.

    "Nothing like legal and diplomatic bullshit to fuck things up," Aramis said. "I want my fucking knife."

    "Yeah." Alex agreed with him totally on that. Celadon wasn't stable, so they'd entered through a starport in Salin's other nation, Kaporta, which was where they were officially operating from. The local laws there prohibited large knives, as well as axes and shock batons. There'd even been an argument over "guards" having lethal weapons rather than crowd-control types. However, the lethal hardware was corporate issue, so it had reluctantly been cleared. The knives, tomahawks, and batons they'd wanted for close quarters had all been put in bond until their