Read Online Good King Sauerkraut by Barbara Paul - Free Book Online Page B

I-am-on-top-of-it mode. “If I did, I’d like to set it right.”
    King simply shrugged, not much inclined to smooth things over for either of them. He turned from the window and glanced at the other two in the room. At that moment Dennis Cox and Mimi Hargrove were doing something that looked suspiciously like flirting. That was surprising, considering how heavily married Mimi was.
    The door opened and Warren Osterman walked in. Nearing seventy, Osterman had hair so black it could only have been dyed. He was dressed in a tan pinstripe suit, a brown shirt, and a white tie. He was short, squat, and ugly. He looked like a gangster.
    As self-appointed spokesman, Gregory advanced toward Osterman with his hand extended and words of appreciation for This Great Opportunity in his mouth. Osterman shook his hand perfunctorily, spoke to Mimi and Dennis, and turned his attention to King.
    â€œHello, Warren,” King said, pleased at seeing the old gangster again.
    â€œWell, King, are you ready for a challenge?” Osterman smiled. “I’ve got one for you that’s already defeated four design teams.”
    â€œChompin’ at the bit.”
    â€œThen let’s get at it.” Osterman turned and pointed at a woman who had followed in his wake and whom none of the others had noticed. “You all know Rae Borchard.” King didn’t. “She’s going to be coordinating your project. You got problems—take ’em to Rae.”
    Before anyone else could say anything, Gregory slid forward and gracefully took one of her hands in both of his. “Rae, this is a pleasure. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
    â€œThank you,” the woman said expressionlessly, and did not return the compliment.
    Dennis Cox smothered a laugh. “Let’s sit,” Warren Osterman commanded, taking his place at the head of the conference table. The woman named Rae Borchard sat to Osterman’s right and King sat next to her; she was fortyish, but that was about all her appearance told about her—except that her looks were a bit quiet compared to Mimi’s California brightness. Mimi was directly across the table from King, with Gregory on one side of her and Dennis on the other. Before each place was a legal pad and four newly sharpened pencils; King clasped his hands between his knees, not wanting to doodle during a meeting as important as this one.
    Face-to-face with Mimi, King at last realized what was different about her: her hair. It was bigger. Mimi’s face was rather narrow, and she now wore a compensatory hairdo that drew attention away from that narrowness. Her hair on each side of her head was exactly the same width as her face. King was so bemused by this tripartite structure of west hair, face, east hair, that he missed part of Warren Osterman’s opening remarks.
    â€œâ€¦ and you’re all free to reject the project I’m going to offer you, of course,” Osterman was saying. “There’ll be no hard feelings. But I don’t think you’re going to want to pass this one up. The Department of Defense has decided to go for broke. They’re proceeding on the assumption that the battlefield of the future will be close to one hundred percent lethal. If a soldier is seen, he will be killed.”
    Dennis cleared his throat. “‘Seen’ by … personnel? Or machines?”
    â€œBy machines. Mobile intelligence-gathering units, eye-spy orbitals, heat-sensing devices, you name it. Once one of those gizmos fingers one of our soldiers, he’s had it. So the obvious solution is to remove the soldier from the direct-fire zone. Put him in a control unit and let him deploy his weapons from a distance. The next big war will be fought by remote control.”
    â€œMachines fighting machines,” Gregory murmured.
    â€œThat’s about it. The next war is going to be unbelievably destructive, in terms of both the natural