Pandora's Gambit

by Randall N Bills

  On 25 October 3069, the extremist Word of Blake attacked the capital of the Free Worlds League and declared the League's leader, Captain-General Thomas Marik, a fraud. House Marik fell into disgrace, and after eight centuries of existence, the Free Worlds League shattered.

  Three captains-general now vie to reunite the realm:

  Anson Marik of the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth prides himself on possessing Marik blood and seeks to rule on its own strength. Lester Cameron-Jones of the Regulan Fiefs knows the Marik bloodline is defunct; only a new royal house can resurrect the League. Jessica Marik of the Oriente Protectorate is on a mission to redeem her father's name: the false Thomas Marik, the man who helped destroy the League. The world of Marik becomes a battleground as the three contenders prove that they will go to any lengths to further their causes. Only Jessica Marik appears to remember that the Free Worlds League was forged not through military might alone, but also through alliances of trust. They will all find the price for their ambitions is higher than they could ever have imagined. Who will be willing to pay?

  Pandora’s Gambit

  Warning Klaxons blared as the Stingrays angled near. Grabbing his right-hand joystick—eyes flicking continually back to the altitude readout—he centered the targeting reticule on the forward viewscreen on the fast-approaching fighters. His brain screaming through math he was never very good at, he made a last-ditch decision, brought the reticule forward to lead the fighters by several centimeters on the HUD and flexed his index finger.

  Twin beams of coruscating energy ate the space between his Sun Cobra and the passing fighters in an instant, as a return swipe of azure and ruby energy slashed from the nose and leading wing edges of the Stingrays. Heat eddies spiked, the heavy hair on his legs moving with the flow of the thick air.

  “Damn it!” Both beams missed. The enemy pilots had better luck, as two large lasers slashed across his ’Mech’s torso, vaporizing armor; almost a ton of metal sublimated away in the hellish wind. The Sun Cobra rocked under the assault, the keening whine of the mammoth gyroscope in the bowels of the ’Mech announcing that the machine was tapping his internal sense of balance through the neurohelmet to keep itself upright and in position, to not pulverize itself into the ground.

  A wicked grin spread over his face as an eyeblink later a veritable latticework of energy darts and streams of autocannon rounds crisscrossed the sky from a company of dropping ’Mechs. Enough found their mark to completely tear away the right wing of one Stingray, sending it spiraling down to its doom; the other, whether intimidated or low on fuel, quickly fled.

  PANDORA’S GAMBIT

  A BATTLETECH NOVEL

  Randall N. Bills

  ROC

  Published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

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  First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, August 2007

  Copyright © WizKids, Inc., 2007

  All rights reserved

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

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  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Acknowledgments are usually legion, with so many contributing in small and large ways to the creation of a book. However, this time around, I’ll leave the acknowledgments at the doorstep of a single, wonderful friend. In one form or another she has been by my side through my entire journey of writing, and always brings out the best in my work. More important, for this book, she gave me a chance after I previously dropped the ball, and then forgave lateness all too readily. Thanks for your friendship, and your story and editorial skills that always take my novels to a level they would not have reached alone.

  Thanks, Sharon.

  It’s been far too long since I dedicated a book to you, my wife. Your continued love and support through the years of the starving artist routine is . . . astonishing. If ever I doubted a Heavenly Father, I see Him every day as he allows me to share my life with you.

  Prologue

  Amur, Oriente

  Oriente Protectorate

  2 January 3135

  The guard, dressed in the dark green and purple court livery, looked expectantly at Jessica, then stepped outside after receiving her nod; despite solid maintenance the worn hinges of the large, ancient doors creaked upon closing. There had been talk of replacing the doors—or at least the hinges—but she’d always balked. They had a history, too. Had served generations of rulers. Despite their age, they still were useful . . . still deserving of respect.

  Laying her hand gently on the large, rectangular mahogany table, Jessica Marik tried to ignore the faint but growing outlines of liver spots on the back of her hand, or the enlarged, purplish veins that traced across her ever more translucent skin.

  Perhaps I should start using makeup? She clenched her fist. No!

  Her green eyes sought her daughter, Nikol. Impatience flashed in her youngest child’s bright jade eyes as she raked her hand through her shoulder-length, reddish-blond hair.

  My mirror image, from so long ago. Can I really be so . . . old? Seventy-three?

  She relaxed her hand and her mind wandered for a moment as she focused once more on the table, fingertips caressing the cool wood as if she could pull some answer from its hidden depths. A smile teased at her thin lips. I’m feeling old this day, but next to you I’m a spring chicken. What are you, almost nine hundred years old? Were you really fashioned the day Tomás declared Oriente independent from the Terran Alliance and formed the Federation of Oriente? Or did Tomás plant the seeds of that rumor in later years? Or Antonia after him, perhaps?

  Of course, it didn’t really matter—though she would love to pull the secret from the darkened wo
od of how Tomás managed to forge the Federation without firing a shot; Can I do the same? What mattered today—and for many previous centuries—is that it was taken for granted that this very table, the table so lovingly cared for by the staff to preserve its ancient heritage, was formed on that seminal Oriente day so long ago.

  Because if you say a thing enough times, it becomes the truth. She tapped the table as though in exclamation, her smile growing full and transforming her aging face into a strong echo of the beauty of her youth.

  And the victor writes history.

  The scrape of a chair startled her; she looked up to see her fourth child sliding into the high-backed chair upholstered in red satin at the end of the table. She managed to keep her forehead from creasing. Late as usual, my son. She inhaled a slow breath, deliberately perusing the intricately worked mahogany wall panels that complemented the table, the bright sunshine streaming through the glazed ferroglass past the heavily brocaded purple curtains to the luxurious inlaid wood floors, which were almost as well kept as the table.

  Unfair, Jessica. Christopher has improved so much. Still some way to go, but he has come around.

  “Sorry, Mother,” Christopher said by way of apology.

  Jessica sniffed in mock disdain at the humor in her son’s words, the tingle of the citrus cleaning agents used just that morning to eradicate any dust before the family gathering still lingering pleasantly. Didn’t even comb that mop he calls a haircut. “I’m sure I don’t want to know why you’re late.” Despite her cool words, her smile stayed in place.

  Christopher bobbed his head, his infectious smile beaming from his chiseled features, his eyes, so similar to Nikol’s, hiding mischief. “Probably not, Mother.”

  “Looks like we are ready to begin, Mother,” Janos said softly.

  Jessica turned to her eldest son on her right, whose almost completely gray hair and lackluster brown eyes framed by overgrown, prickly eyebrows always made her wonder if perhaps he and Julietta were born from a different husband; a quick glance to Janos’ left at her second oldest, Julietta, showed the same coloring, albeit with much less gray and only a light smattering of wrinkles as she neared fifty. Both wore immaculately tailored clothing, with every crease, button and lapel in its proper place. Such attention to detail should be laudable. . . . Should be.

  “Yes, I think we are.”

  “Why did you ask us here, Mother? We just had a council meeting last week.”

  Jessica looked to the opposite side of the table from Julietta and Janos to find her middle daughter, Elis, leaning forward in anticipation, yet not appearing anxious as Nikol so often did. While she shared some of the darker coloring of her older siblings, her chocolate-brown eyes held depths that seemed to invite one in, yet allowed her to hide a world of secrets. So similar to Nikol and Christopher and yet still so unique. So willful.

  So like yourself, you mean? That thought always gave Jessica pause. What do you expect, sandwiched between elder siblings almost old enough to be her parents and two a decade younger?

  She took another deep breath to refocus her attention on the matter at hand, then lifted a verigraph from her lap and laid it gently on the table, as though serving up a valuable prize. A most valuable prize, though some will fail to see that.

  “What’s that?” Elis asked.

  Jessica raised her eyebrows and waited until she had everyone’s attention. She caught Christopher’s interested look as Phillip leaned forward from her direct left, as though he also was seeing the document for the first time. Jessica locked gazes with Christopher after his eyes darted back and forth between Jessica and Phillip, and his bright eyes widened as he caught the full implications. He leaned forward and placed his hands on the table, almost eager.

  That’s right, Christopher. I’ve not even discussed this with your father yet. It’s that important. After a final review of her family, she licked her lips, tasting a hint of salt—it was already hot enough to sweat this morning—and spoke. “This is a verigraphed invitation from The Republic of the Sphere. Signed by the exarch himself.”

  “Really? From The Republic!” Christopher said, his boyish enthusiasm coming through strong, despite his twenty-six years.

  “That was what Mother said, was it not?” Julietta responded.

  The two siblings exchanged mild looks. Jessica tapped on the verigraph somewhat impatiently. She behaves like a mother, but has no children—and is waspish, at that. Need to get you married, Julietta. There must be an alliance you can wed to the Oriente, despite your age. And despite your age, children can still come. Children to further strengthen the Oriente. Another day . . .

  “Yes, really, Christopher.” Her stern tone did little to dampen his eagerness.

  “I don’t think who it’s from is nearly as important as what the message contains, my son,” Phillip said, his deep voice filling the room with his affection for their rambunctious child. “Eh, my dear?” he said, turning his eyes back to Jessica.

  They shared a warm smile. What did I do to deserve you, my dear? I keep such things from you and yet you always take it in stride.

  He seemed to understand her silent question, and his smile stretched out into a grin, the heavy wrinkles around his eyes and mouth thinning like pulled taffy. The effect was a little comical, perhaps, but he was the love of her life.

  “The verigraph, Mother?” Nikol spoke up.

  “Of course.” She tapped it one more time for emphasis, then dropped the bombshell. “Paladin Victor Steiner-Davion is dead.”

  Appropriately shocked looks swept the room, and beyond sharply indrawn breaths, silence reigned for all of five seconds. Broken, of course, by Christopher.

  “No. Way.”

  “Yes. Way.” Jessica almost chuckled at the way her son’s fair features brilliantly displayed his flush.

  “What does this mean, Mother?” Janos managed to make his tone both neutral and condemning of the little brother he considered a disgrace, all in one short sentence.

  Too bad you don’t realize what a talent you have there, Janos. Too bad you simply have no idea how to use such a tone as a weapon of state. It would be every bit as deadly as a regiment of BattleMechs.

  “It means I will journey to Terra. In fact, if I’m to make the wake, I need to leave within the next week. Especially as I’ve an important stop to make along the way.”

  “Who will be going with you?”

  Surprised, Jessica focused on Elis. I thought Christopher would beat everyone to that question. She studied Elis’ dark eyes a moment; then her glance swept the room. “All of you have important matters you will be attending to while I am gone.” She raised her hand slightly, as though to tick off each point.

  “Janos, you will remain here and act as regent while I am gone.” With no change in expression, Janos bowed his head, acknowledging his mother’s request. She managed to withhold a sigh.

  “Julietta, we have received a marriage proposal from Charles Cunin the Fourth, have we not?”

  A momentary flicker of surprise lit Julietta’s dull eyes before she responded. “Yes. Yes, three months ago. I felt the insult warranted such a delay before rejection.”

  “I believe you should travel to Andurien and meet personally with Charles Cunin the Fourth. After all, it was obviously a heartfelt proposal, despite the fact that their house has fallen on hard times since Lopez was destroyed during the Jihad. We should give his proposal just and due consideration, no?” Jessica was confident Christopher would have laughed at the absurdity of such a statement, if his jaw wasn’t as unhinged as Nikol’s and Elis’.

  Another flicker of surprise, before a slow nod of acceptance. “Okay. I assume I will receive further instructions from you on this matter.”

  “Of course.” How did I raise such sheep? She brushed the frustration aside and turned to Elis. Now is not the time, Jessica. After too many decades of preparation and waiting, the catalyst stands ready.

  “Elis, doesn’t your cousin keep asking you to visit
her on Lesnovo?”

  Unlike Julietta, Elis allowed her surprise to show on her face. She hesitated before responding, obviously trying to work out her mother’s strategy. “Yes,” she finally said.

  “I think now is a wonderful time for you to go.”

  “Of course I would love to visit my cousin, Mother, but now? I’d be gone at least half a year, if not considerably longer.”

  “And so will I. We can cut our separation down from two ordeals to one, right, my dear?” She smiled, aware that her daughter’s mind was racing. Intelligent, willful, beautiful. If only we could find a marriage alliance worthy of you, Elis. She set aside the uneasiness that always ran prickles down her spine at the idea of Elis ascending the throne after her. She had never been able to articulate the precise reason for this unpleasant sensation, and today was not the day to figure it out.

  “Yes, Mother,” Elis finally agreed.

  Jessica turned to find Christopher practically bouncing in his seat, eyes showing his eagerness to hear his assignment. Despite herself, she smiled warmly at her ever-energetic son. “Christopher, you’ve been asking to go on your, what did you call it, extreme sporting tour?”

  Christopher’s jaw worked through several open-shut cycles before he managed to find words. Jessica’s eyes twinkled. Not often I leave you without words, son.

  “You’re going to let me go on the Extreme Sportsman Tour?”

  Amazing how he can capitalize words without increasing his volume. “I believe you’ve earned the right.”

  “Unity! Yeah!” He thumped the table and leaned back.

  “Christopher.” Janos spoke sharply, a reproving look distorting his features.

  Christopher glanced over at Janos, quickly looked at Jessica to gauge her mood, then forced a little more decorum back into his countenance and posture. “I apologize, everyone. I got a little too excited, there.”