The big cigar felt natural in my hand as I gestured airily. "It doesn't seem fair, does it? But there it is."

The Carpenter across the big, faux-oak boardroom table- Jeremy 92-D Carpenter, to be precise- looked like he had bitten into something sour. Which, from his point of view, I suppose, was a fairly accurate description. "Look," he said, "I realize we are behind on the payments-"

"You're not even covering the interest anymore," I interrupted bluntly.

Jeremy looked like he was about to blow a gasket. Carpenters are not used to having others stand up to them. Especially when the Carpenter is a commander of his own Free Company. "You WILL get paid-"

"When, and how?" I asked reasonably. "Look, this little problem you and your band have is not exactly something new in history, you know. Ever since they invented cannon, it's been getting harder and harder to turn a profit on war."

"We have just had a few raids go bad is all-"

"Tell it to my investors! Look, Jeremy, we've been down this road before. No more credit!"

"But- Without credit, how will I buy energy for the mass drivers? Where will I get repairs made on my escort squadron? How can I secure new weapons?" In other circumstances he might have killed me, but the Carpenter knew that my corpse would not get him the trade credits he sought.

"You don't. Jeremy, I have been trying to tell you! You are out of business! Kaput, dead, bankrupt, and finished."

The Carpenter shook his head, as if the idea simply could not penetrate.

"Look," I explained. "If it had been up to me we would never have backed a Free Company to begin with. Frankly, the ocean of red ink you've generated for this bank was the main reason I was able to take it over. War simply does not pay."

"But-"

"No buts about it! Sure, a tide of loot looks great on film! Slaves, clone parts, equipment, resources, all free for the taking! You even get paid for raiding, sometimes! But how often does your little fleet get beaten off with nothing, though? What happens when the side that was supposed to pay you gets its butt kicked? How about all those times when you spent days and weeks maneuvering for position, only to stalemate with the defenses and never break into a habitat? All cost, no profits. It happens all the time, doesn't it?"

"Fairly often," Jeremy admitted.

"And the weapons costs! If you don't have the best these days, there's no point even leaving home base. You have to buy sensors, warheads, military software, lasers- The list goes on and on! And of course you can't capture this stuff intact- there's no sense even trying to crack an arms-making station. Almost by definition they are the toughest targets of all. They will NEVER sell anything that might defeat their own defenses. They're not fools now, are they?"

"Of course not, Mr.-" the Carpenter tried to interject. But I overrode him.

"It gets worse, though. With you Carpenters, not only does your military have to sustain itself, it must also sustain a whole society! Your schools, domes, infrastructure- EVERYTHING must come from the proceeds of war. In good times, when things are going well, you can perhaps just barely squeak by. And the Deconstruction was a good time for the war business, no question about it. That's all over now, though. Times are tougher for mercenaries. One little tiny reversal, and the debt begins to mount."

I sighed, and took a long draw at my cheroot. "Face it, Jeremy. You and your kind are bad investments these days, pure and simple. Bad investments that we have no wish to carry on our books any longer. Nothing personal, mind you. But further credit is denied, and even as we speak your collateral is being seized."

"Our collateral! You mean-"

It was not easy sometimes to be a banker. "Yep. Your habitats, your ships, your personnel, even your cloning center. All of it."

"But-"

"No buts, remember? Our repo men are highly efficient. They are Carpenters themselves, you see, and working off a debt of their own. Their weapons have ammunition, their ships are well repaired, and their energy systems fully charged. Your people, on the other hand, have not had the funds to properly resupply from your last little unprofitable adventure. The whole thing should be over in minutes, really, with very little loss of life. The orders on bloodshed were very clear. We are not cruel. We do not hate Carpenters, or even your Free Company. But the books MUST balance. Surely you can see that, can't you?"

Carpenters are cold and calculating. This one was no exception. Deciding he needed more leverage, Jeremy went for his gun.

Foolish man! The severed arm made a terrible mess in the deep plush carpeting. Even Carpenters cannot out-draw Pinkerton security robots. Perhaps I should have warned him that I had taken precautions? Moving slowly, I walked around the table, picked up the limb, and handed it to its owner. "Drop something?"

Finally and utterly defeated in his last battle as a free man, Jeremy staggered out, leaving me with the grotesque trophy. He was too proud to scream, too tough to display the agony that must be coursing through his body and soul alike. I never even found out what he hoped to gain by killing me. But the wound was cauterized, and I knew he would make it home without running up an ambulance bill. Wherever his home might be now, I added to myself. What would happen to him and his people, I knew not. Nor, frankly, did I care. The market value of experienced Carpenters was pretty much the same wherever they might be sold off, and the slave factor I had contracted to handle my little collection job was highly efficient. He might sell off the whole Company, or break them up into more marketable pieces. In any event, he could be relied upon to maximize profits. For a few minutes I relished my elegant cigar, then made a phone call.

"Told you it would work!" I chortled even while the video was still sorting itself out. "No non-Carpenter deaths, and not even very many of those. And even the Carpenters involved know they did this to themselves, deep down. In their own way they are very honorable creatures. There will be no revenge killings, so long as they keep their temper. Which Carpenters usually do, you know."

By then the figure of the woman in uniform had finally stabilized. "I have to admit," she said slowly, "I am terribly impressed. Everything went just as you predicted it would. A whole Free Company, and a rather dangerous one at that, written off in an eyeblink."

"But of course! Warfare hasn't turned a long-term profit since the Middle Ages. Sure, you get little spurts when conquest is lucrative enough, but the long-terms trends are always towards rising costs and diminishing returns. The trick lies in getting the arms makers the resources that they need in order to escalate cost and quality very quickly. Once that deadly spiral begins, no military machine can keep up. They MUST buy new weapons, whether they can afford them or not. We bankers end up virtually owning and running whole nations. And running them far better than the warlords we generally replace, if I may say so myself. Jeremy's bunch of independents was just an example, to prove our business case." And one of those rare Companies actually owned by the clones themselves would hardly be cried over, I didn't add. My choice of targets had not been in the least bit random. Racism has always been a useful source of leverage for my family's business.

"Hmm- How much do you think you need?"

"Just low-interest loan guarantees for a couple billion credits, to serve as initial capitalization. Seed money, in other words. Eventually we will of course be using the money of your enemies themselves to defeat them. This is much less than you pay for a single month of trying to defend that great big sitting target you call a planet."

"For what it is worth, I will support your case before the Planetary Defense Council. I cannot speak for Mars, but what you have accomplished here WAS truly remarkable."

I smiled by way of reply, with the cigar clenched in my teeth. The very picture of a respectable banker.

"I only have one more question for you," the general continued. "How is it that Mars will escape bankruptcy with all these spiraling costs?"

"By not deficit spending, of course. You have a whole planet to draw from; the largest single economy in the System. Watch yourselves, spend responsibly, and you should be fine. We bankers cannot control those who will not take our funds. But the smaller economies, those who either think they need or truly do need the latest and greatest in military hardware ones will tumble, one by one. Eventually, there will be peace, because no one will be able to afford to fight." And if she believed Martian politicians would remain immune to the lure of easy loans, I had a slightly used bridge to sell her. The famous replica of the Brooklyn Bridge under the dome in Luna City, in fact.

It would take decades, maybe even centuries, but eventually we bankers would have it all. Even the arms makers would come under our thumb in the end. As they had so many times before.

"Very well then, Mr. Rothschild. You will be hearing from me shortly, I am sure." And with that, the screen blanked.

I smiled again, once she was gone. A few dry centuries had gone by, sure enough, but that happened now and again. At last the family business was back on track.