“Yeah, I know the Coalition of Multinationals is milking it for all it’s worth. So what does that have to do with Medusa?”

“Quite simply, she’s very effective. Too effective. It’s getting rather inconvenient for those of us with a financial stake in this situation. Some of us are starting to suspect she is threatening the balance of power.”

Tom felt a warm rush of admiration for her. He had to fight to keep himself from grinning. Yeah, Medusa was doing some heavy damage single-handedly. “What, you’re upset she might actually cause one side to win?”

“The wrong side. That’s why we need her out of the conflict.”

Tom’s urge to grin died at once.

“It would be simple,” Vengerov said idly, “if someone she trusted lured her to an internet rendezvous . . .”

“No,” Tom said at once, seeing where this was going.

“. . . and then he deployed an executable program to incapacitate her. That person would be doing quite a service for his country, and he’d be amply rewarded for it.”

“Did you hear me? I said no!”

“Surely you don’t want your side to lose, Mr. Raines. Have you no patriotism?”

Tom thought it was rich hearing about love of country from a globalist who despised the very idea of countries, but he said, “If this is so strategically important, then someone in the military would’ve ordered me to do it already. You’re a private contractor.”

“There’s a very simple reason I, a private contractor, am the one approaching you.” He weighed the glass in his hand for a thoughtful moment, as though figuring out how to dumb down his explanation. “There are certain codes of conduct the two governments have mutually agreed upon. That’s why the Russo-Chinese don’t hunt you down and kill you one by one.”

“Well, yeah. Then our side would do the same thing.”

“Precisely. These governments do, however, act unofficially. They have agents, contractors, in each other’s countries who would be eager to get their hands on enemy Combatants if possible. Everything like this done outside the official codes must be done privately. Take the Geneva Convention: your military is not allowed to torture enemy soldiers. Private contractors—mercenaries—are useful because we can. Certain codes can be violated as long as the official state entity isn’t doing it. I can violate the Geneva Convention; I can strike directly at Combatants if I choose; and I can engineer Medusa’s destruction, whereas your General Marsh cannot.”

“But you’d be using me to do it,” Tom pointed out. “I’m officially a ward of the military, so that’s still the military doing it.”

“As far as I understand, you were meeting her outside the military’s jurisdiction. As you would do once again. You were acting independently, without orders. You’ll do so again, and that’s why your strike on her won’t violate any treaties. And besides that, what can she do—tell someone you were behind an attack upon her? That would require her confessing to meeting an enemy agent. Again. You see, we already leaked to her government that she’d been liaising with you. She’s already on notice. She can’t afford to reveal her involvement with you a second time.”

Tom leaned his elbows onto his knees, his eyes narrowed. “Why would I do anything for the person who helped Dalton Prestwick reprogram me? And don’t give me that ‘for my country’ thing. You milk countries for everything you can take, but people like you don’t give anything back to them.”

“Oh, but there’s another reason you’ll do this, Mr. Raines. As things stand, you most assuredly will not be sponsored. If you did as I asked, I could change your situation.”

Tom was startled by the offer. “Obsidian Corp. doesn’t sponsor Combatants.”

“How could I? You all have my processors. A piece of me. It would be like that classic dilemma, where a parent must select which of his children to shoot. How could I play favorites?”

Tom sputtered a laugh.

Vengerov’s voice grew acidic. “Do I amuse you?”

Tom slouched back in his seat. “Yeah. I’ve never heard that classic dilemma of picking a kid to shoot.”

“Gunmen force a parent to choose a child to shoot. I’ve heard that.”

“That’s terrible. That’s not a classic dilemma. A parent choosing a favorite kid is a classic, not choosing to shoot one of them.”

There was a touch of ice in the long, slow look Vengerov sent him; he seemed to be turning the “shooting children” remark over in his mind, like he’d fit the wrong widget into a socket, and he was trying to figure out the most efficient way to correct this aberration. Then he appeared to brush off the thought, and said, “Regardless of whether we sponsor, I have pull with those who do. A few words from me, and the other companies will think better of you.”

“They hate me.”

“They’re executives, Mr. Raines. They pride themselves on thinking in terms of self-interest and monetary incentive. Emotions, values, and attachments that cloud judgment aren’t prized among their set.”

“Or a conscience, huh?”

“I’ll take dispassionate self-interest over a conscience any day. It’s far more predictable. Just as these executives are. If I inform them they are to sponsor you, then I assure you, they will do so—to please me.” He tapped his fingers one by one, still considering Tom. “You do realize, I’m not asking you to inflict any permanent damage upon her.”

“You’re not?” Tom said, caught off guard.

Vengerov shook his head. “Of course not.” He withdrew a tablet computer from his pocket. “You may feel free to examine the program yourself.”

And with a few taps on his keyboard, he knocked down the firewall Wyatt had written for Tom. Tom jumped, but a zipped file had already appeared in his processor.

“Hey,” Tom objected, but text blinked before his eyes: Please set phrase to trigger deployment. Irritated, Tom thought about how he wouldn’t do this to her. The prompt vanished.

Vengerov had already restored Tom’s firewall, and he spoke as though Tom hadn’t even objected. “Once you deploy that on her, she’ll be incapacitated and experience some difficulty hooking into the vessels in the solar system. She won’t die, and she won’t be permanently damaged. I consider this more a—” he waved a finger in the air, as though trying to conjure the proper word, and a queer smile appeared on his lips when he seemed to find it “—an exploration of the effect her absence will have upon the conflict, nothing more. The real question here is, will you fulfill this reasonable request, or will I have to resort to unpleasant means of persuasion?”

Full of mistrust, Tom crossed his arms tightly. “I won’t do anything because you’re threatening me.”

The words merely amused Vengerov. “Let’s be clear, Mr. Raines: I’m attempting to bribe you. The threat’s an unpleasant necessity if you refuse to accept my generosity.”

Tom hadn’t realized they were at the airport until Vengerov nodded.

“Your stop.”

“I’m not agreeing to anything,” Tom insisted.

“Naturally, you need time to consider this. I don’t wish to hear an answer from you until you’ve thoroughly considered the wisest course of action. We’ll be meeting again quite soon.”