The door to his cabin opened again, this time admitting a tall, slender woman clad in a gray jumpsuit. "Phelan, I just heard. Vlad was down in the gymnasium preening himself. I had to leave. I am so sorry for your loss." She started to reach out for him, then dropped her arms in a gesture of helplessness.
Phelan managed to muster a brave smile for her, despite the sudden, violent urge to hurl the remote control through the view screen. "Thank you, Ranna." When he held out his hand to her, she came to perch beside him on the arm of his chair.
Ranna nervously brushed a wisp of short white hair back behind her left ear. "What Cyrilla did was for you and the Clans," she said. "You must know that."
He looked again at the blank screen and nodded slowly. "Maybe that is it. Maybe Cyrilla believed her sacrifice was the only way I would be able to prove to the Clans that your system is not the pinnacle of human development. God knows that is a lesson Vlad and Conal Ward could stand to learn." He pointed his remote control at the viewer and started the disk playing again.
Ranna kissed him lightly on the top of his head. "If the result is anything less, my love, her sacrifice will have been wasted."
As Cyrilla's smiling face again came into view, Phelan did his best to shut his heartache away. Settling back to listen to Cyrilla's words once more, he stroked Ranna's back. "All right, Cyrilla," he said, speaking his thoughts aloud. "If what you are bequeathing me is the chance to show the Clans that there is more than one way to live, I will make the most of it. Never again will the Clans need someone to do what you have done."
3
ComStar First Circuit Compound, Hilton Head Island
North America, Terra
18 January 3052
Raising himself up to full height, Precentor Martial Anastasius Focht glared angrily at ComStar's First Circuit. "How dare you even intimate that some incompetence on my part is the cause of this shocking news!" Standing in the center of the wood-paneled First Circuit chamber, he slowly turned, fixing each Precentor with a stare from his single eye. "You are the ones whose arrogance set ComStar on a course of aiding and abetting this invasion of the Inner Sphere."
Gardner Riis, the auburn-haired Precentor from Rasalhague, slammed his fist down on his crystal podium. "I never agreed with this policy!"
"Nor I," shouted Ulthan Everson, the thickly built Precentor from Tharkad. "I have opposed this invasion since the beginning, and I have regretted every act of treason against the Inner Sphere I have been forced to commit."
"Bah! Your empty words mean nothing." The Precentor Martial clamped a brake on his anger. Control is the key. As befit his station, he let his slender body slip into an appropriately stiff military stance. "The situation is now painfully clear. The Clans have stated.their intention to wrest Terra from us. They say that as Terra was the seat of the old Star League, their invasion was staged for the single purpose of retaking this world."
Huthrin Vandel, Precentor New Avalon, raked ringers back through his salt-and-pepper hair so violently that Focht thought it a mere prelude to the man tearing his hair out. "It seems equally clear that we must sever all relations with the Clans. We should cease administering their captured worlds for them. Our personnel on those worlds should go underground and supply complete intelligence reports that we would pass on to the Draconis Combine and Federated Commonwealth so they can drive these invaders from the Inner Sphere."
"Go underground! And how, pray tell, will they hide their hyperpulse generators?" Looking serene and unperturbed in her golden robe, the Primus of ComStar let scorn drip from her words. "We will do no such thing. We will continue to administer the Clan-occupied worlds. As a show of good faith, we will also continue to black-out information coming from the occupied worlds. We will react to this move of the Clans as though the conquest of Terra would mean nothing to us."
Myndo Waterly smiled coldly. "In fact, we will enter into negotiations with the Clans for returning Terra to their control."
Focht spun as Ulthan Everson began to speak in an almost incoherent sputter. "Madness. This is complete and utter madness! They are coming to take our world away from us, and you say you will help them do that?" Precentor Tharkad looked at Focht. "Precentor Martial, you must oppose this plan."
Focht clasped his hands behind his back. "It is not my place, Precentor Tharkad, to protest anything the Primus chooses to do. I am merely her advisor. We consulted on this course of action during the journey from Satalice to Terra. The constant change of ships and the numerous jumps did make the discussions less than fluid, but the agreement we reached will, we believe, be the means by which the Clans can be stopped."
"But the Primus just said she will negotiate with the Clans to let them have Terra." Everson looked decidedly confused.
The Primus beamed triumphantly. "The offer of negotiations will buy us time to regroup our troops into a force to lead the way in driving the Clans from the Inner Sphere. Our key has ever been ComStar's role as the deliverer of mankind. We have acted as a shield between the populace and the excesses of the Clans on occupied worlds, and we will continue to do so. Already many people believe that our intervention is the only reason the Clans have not committed more atrocities like the destruction of Edo on Turtle Bay. With some careful manipulation of perceptions, we can make our military opposition to the Clans look as if it has come after the Clans pushed too hard, too far."
"But that is the truth, isn't it?" Vandel stared down at the Precentor martial. "This plan presumes you can stop the Clans. But can you?"
Focht remained silent for several moments to give the Precentor from New Avalon the impression he was being appropriately cautious in his answer. "The battle for Luthien has proven the Clans are not invincible. All across their front, the Clans have had to adapt their tactics to more closely resemble those of the Inner Sphere forces. With this change and their superior weapons, they are still a formidable force. But the troops we have under arms are not raw recruits, and our equipment is some of the best in the Inner sphere."
The Precentor from the Draconis Combine, a small woman with pronounced Oriental features, pursed her lips. "You have not answered the question, Precentor Martial," Sharilar Mori said.
"True, Precentor Dieron. If a long and somewhat checkered career has taught me anything, it is that absolute predictions of victory are folly. This is never more true than when contemplating a battle with the Clans. The key to fighting them is to choose the grounds and negotiate the goal of the battle. Once the Clans have bracketed themselves concerning the number of troops they will use in the fight and what they are fighting for, it becomes possible to defeat them."
Riis frowned. "The Clans obviously want Terra. If you cannot defeat them, they will have it. If you beat them once, they will only send more troops to deal with you a second time. It is inevitable."
"I beg to differ, Precentor Rasalhague." Focht adjusted the black patch over his right eye. "Wolcott, a world in the Draconis Combine, is located well behind Clan lines. When the invasion force started negotiations with the defenders, the commander agreed that the world would never again be attacked if the Combine's troops could defeat him. The Kuritans did defeat the invaders and Wolcott has not been retaken, even though Combine troops have been using the world to stage strikes at other planets."
Sharilar Mori leaned forward on her podium. "What of Luthien? Will the Clans attack Luthien again?"
Focht shrugged. "No one knows for certain, Precentor Dieron, what they will do. As Luthien is actually on the edge of the invasion cone, and because the Wolves have advanced far closer to Terra than have the Smoke Jaguars and Nova Cats, I do not think Luthien will suffer another assault. The Jaguars and Nova Cats are fierce rivals of the Wolves and will not put themselves in jeopardy of losing the race if they can help it."
Sharilar nodded, but directed her next question to the Primus. "I hear you speak of rivalries among the Clans. I assume your plan for negotiating involves multiple teams of negotiators to set the Clans one against a
nother?"
Myndo crossed her arms, slipping her hands into the voluminous sleeves of her robe. "That was my initial plan, Precentor Dieron, but the Precentor Martial disagrees with it."
Focht heard a strident note beginning in the Primus' voice. He recalled too well the tirades he had endured in opposing her plan to play the Clans off against each other in a game of politics. In the end, the Primus had acquiesced to his point of view, but not willingly, and he dreaded the manner in which she would lay out the argument for the First Circuit.
The Primus gave him a Judas smile. "The Precentor Martial, speaking from the fortress of a military man's phobia for politics, noted quite correctly that the invasion force is made up of military leaders from the Clans' Warrior Caste. Though he conceded that the ilKhan, Ulric Kerensky of the Wolves, is himself adept at politics, Anastasius points out that any political meddling by us would be viewed as a directly hostile act. If we are to keep our people in place on the occupied worlds, we can only negotiate with the ilKhan. Still, the Precentor Martial did concede the point of letting the other Clan leaders know we were negotiating with the ilKhan because, obviously, he was going to win the race."
Myndo's hands reappeared from their hiding places as she pressed them together in an attitude of prayer. "While I think his analysis of the Clans is quite correct, I wish his paranoia about politics had not blinded him to Khan Ulric's obvious motive in this invasion. If he had foreseen it, we would have been better prepared for the defense of Terra."
Damn you, witch! I know enough of politics to know you've just thrown me to the wolves—both here and with the Clans. Focht lifted his white-maned head high and slowly studied the members of the First Circuit. "I would beg to differ with the Primus' characterization of the ilKhan: Ulric has never been obvious. I cannot fathom a way in which I might have learned from him the intended goal of the invasion."
Sharilar Mori's brows knit together in a look of puzzlement. "But I recall from your reports that you enlisted the aid of Phelan Kell to break into the Khan's chambers in an attempt to learn the reasons behind the invasion."
"True, but the death of the previous ilKhan in the battle at Radstadt prevented bringing that plan to fruition. You cannot fault me for that turn of fate."
Percentor Dieron shook her head. "No, Precentor Martial, I do not fault you for that. I note, however, that you seemed to rely heavily on Kell, a Clan outsider, for much of your information. Might not you have found a better source?"
"You are in error there, Precentor Dieron." Focht folded his arms across his chest. "From the moment he was captured, Phelan Kell was considered part of the Wolf Clan. As a bondsman working closely with Khan Ulric, he had access to a vast amount of information as well as virtual free run of the invasion flagship. He was my only window into the Khan's mind, and yet now I believe Ulric was manipulating the both of us."
Vandel clasped his hands at the back of his neck. "Could you not have converted Kell into an information source more quickly, Precentor Martial?"
"I did not have the necessary tools, Precentor New Avalon. As Precentor Tharkad can tell you from looking at Kell's record and the story of his expulsion from the Nagel-ring, he is possessed of a singularly strong sense of loyalty and an iron will. Ulric earned the youth's respect early on, and getting any concession out of Phelan proved more than difficult."
Focht looked up at the Primus. "I had thought offering communication between Phelan and his parents would be enough to bring him around to our side, but actually transmitting such messages was forbidden by the Primus. This left me with nothing until I could build a rapport with Phelan. By the time I did that, it was too late."
The Primus looked suitably stung by his remark. "What of this rapport now, Precentor Martial?" she fired back. "Might it not have told us what we needed to know before I learned of it from the ilKhan's lips on Satalice?"
"I think not, Primus." Focht drew in a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh. "Phelan Kell was adopted into the Warrior Caste, binding him even more tightly to Ulric and the Wolves. Moreover, Natasha Kerensky was assigned as one of his tutors and her love for our Blessed Order is known to be something smaller than a Tau muon. Lastly, I recall the look on Phelan Kell's face when the ilKhan told you the goal of the invasion. He was as shocked as you or I at the announcement."
"Perhaps," she whispered, her tone laden with skepticism. "I hope your read of ilKhan Ulric is more accurate now that he has unveiled his true motives."
Indeed it is, Primus. Focht nodded. "I have watched and studied how Ulric thinks and works. I have gigabytes worth of data on all the Clan assaults, their leaders, their tactics, and their losses. Even now that material is being analyzed at Sandhurst. I am certain that it will deliver me the key to defeating Ulric, and with him, the Clans."
Everson narrowed his eyes. "So while you are considering a way to defeat the Clans, what are the rest of us supposed to do? Do we fiddle while the Successor States burn, or have we a more constructive role to play in this grand drama?"
The Primus bristled at the question, but she delivered her response in a low, calm voice. "Your job, Precentor Tharkad, is to slowly communicate with the leaders of the Inner Sphere. Let them know that ComStar is increasingly alarmed at the nature of the invasion. With the loss of their intelligence chief to Romano Liao's assassin, the Federated Commonwealth must want our help in gathering information. Offer it.
"Tell them that we have tried to remain neutral for the sake of the people on the captured worlds, but the Clans are quickly putting us in a position where we must act. With the support of the Successor States, ComStar will lead the way in vanquishing the Clans."
The Precentor Martial quailed slightly at the light gleaming in Myndo Waterly's eyes. He knew that it was her obsession with reforming mankind along the grand design outlined in the teachings of Jerome Blake that had put ComStar in this delicate position. Myndo believed ComStar somehow immune to anything so ignominious as defeat. Worse, she expected the Federated Commonwealth to ignore decades of covert war between ComStar and its intelligence service in order to unite into a force to liberate mankind—in the name of ComStar.
She deludes herself, and in so doing, imperils the very organization she promotes. Focht swallowed hard. "Primus, just remember: the solution to the Clans must be a military one, not a political one. Use politics to get me the troops and time I need, and I will destroy the threat to ComStar and the Word of Blake."
"Of course, Precentor Martial." Myndo smiled with the sincerity of a serpent. "I leave the problem of the Clans to you alone."
4
Teniente, Kagoshima Prefecture
Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine
18 January 3052
Shin Yodama grabbed Hohiro Kurita to prevent him from taking a running dive across the briefing table and strangling Tai-sa Alfred Tojiro. "Iie, Hohiro-sama. We are here as observers."
Hohiro whirled, his brown eyes betraying his surprise at Shin's action. "How can you say that? Even if we're only observers, what we're observing is a disaster." Hohiro pointed to the data-readout hovering holographically over the table. "Tojiro has just ordered the Third Battalion of the Third Pesht Regulars to charge a solid Clan position! The man is fighting in the old style!"
Shin felt his heart sink. "I know that, Hohiro, but the reason we were forced to come here was because Tojiro is such a long-time favorite of your grandfather." He nodded toward the taller of the military leaders in the room. "The same goes for Tai-sa Kim Kwi-Nam, the Eleventh Pesht Regulars' commander. We have no authority to depose either one of these madmen."
Hohiro's hand fell to the hilt of the machine pistol he wore. 'This is all the authority I need."
Shin's dark gaze flicked from one armed guard to another stationed all around the bunker. "We would be slain in an instant, and our deaths would be accounted to the Clans.
Tojiro demanded observers so he could prove his old ways were enough to destroy the Clans."
Hohir
o ground his teeth with frustration. "But they are not! His people are getting picked apart! The Clan leader grossly underbid in his attempt to take this world, and Tojiro is handing him a victory." The flash and fireball of a 'Mech dying on a datascreen bleached all the color from Hohiro's profile. "I cannot simply stand idle and let our people die."
"I know." Shin exhaled slowly. "Be careful."
Hohiro gave Shin a grateful smile. "I will."
The son of the Draconis Combine's Warlord threaded his way through the commtechs and took up a position opposite the small, wizened man commanding Teniente's defenses. Shin drifted in behind Hohiro, but stood far enough back to keep an eye on all the guards in the room. With practiced ease, he shifted his personal assault weapon around, letting the laser rifle with an underslung shotgun-barrel hang by its pistol-grip from his right hand. The yakuza quickly assessed the guards for threat level and determined which, if it came down to it, he would shoot first.
"Tai-sa Tojiro, forgive my presumption," Hohiro began slowly, "but you are ordering the destruction of your Third Battalion."
Tojiro's head snapped up as if springloaded, and Shin instantly realized Tojiro would not mince words or abide by the courtesies demanded by polite culture. "Am I? I seem to recall your command was destroyed on Turtle Bay, Hohiro Kurita. But I have never lost a command. How do you presume to lecture me?"
From the hunch of Hohiro's shoulders, Shin knew he was about to explode. "I learned from my error, Tojiro! You have read all the briefing papers, I assume? You are an idiot if you push your Third Battalion forward."
The slender commander of the Eleventh Pesht Regulars pressed his hands together, fingertip to fingertip. "And I would assume his Highness is equally critical of my troop deployment?"
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