Pandora's Gambit

by Randall N Bills

  The holomessage went dark again. Blunt as ever, Daniella. But there was no way my plans could have anticipated this development. He wanted to pace, but realized the room was too small for his bulk; if he was going to smash something, he wanted to do it on purpose, not as an accident of proximity.

  The trap had been set for the Lyrans. He’d even have been happy to catch Jessica. But who would’ve thought the Spirit Cats would trip it. And now I’ve got to do something about it! “Maggot-eating tin-can-birthed sons a’ bitches!” he ground out between clenched teeth. There was nothing to be done for it. Losing Marik was not an option. Even if it meant giving away his ploy of switching capitals. He had to send reinforcements.

  With deliberate movements, careful to keep his rage from bursting out in another fiery explosion, he pulled out a new message cube, queued it up and began to record.

  18

  Dormuth

  Mandoria, Marik

  Marik-Stewart Commonwealth

  19 November 3136

  Rikkard scanned the tall corridor of the four-lane road, skyscrapers standing like sentinels along the major traffic artery. Despite the eerie silence of the long, apparently abandoned stretch of road, it screamed death trap for anyone stupid enough to enter. He scrutinized every secondary screen in the Shadow Hawk’s cockpit as he flipped through multiple scans, trying to get a firm read on what might be lying in wait. But as was the case in most modern cities, the high metal content of Dormuth’s construction made it difficult. Very difficult. And they have become very good at hiding their intentions.

  “A trap a Sea Fox would be proud of, quiaff?” commented Karli, his second-in-command.

  “Aff and aff,” Rikkard responded.

  “Every attempt to penetrate into the heart of the city has been booby-trapped.”

  “Spheroids,” he swore in reply. The damage the Marik defenders were willing to wreak on their own civilian infrastructure—not to mention the collateral damage to civilians, no matter how many they evacuated—appalled him. Years of fighting in the Republic of the Sphere had not prepared him for this low behavior.

  “Yet if we do not penetrate the heart, the city will never be ours.”

  Rikkard nodded at the rhetorical statement, bringing up a map overlay of the city once again with a few strokes on the small keypad. With no apparent overall city plan, Dormuth had developed along the lines of an out-of-control contagion, flanges morphing in any direction as new suburbs and business parks sprang up over the centuries to incorporate the increasing population.

  So incoherent. So lacking in order. It perfectly captured the spheroid way of life. Yet even a rabid dog can be dangerous. And the defending forces had proven most dangerous, repulsing repeated forays; the Spirit Cats’ ferocity was blunted against the defenders’ superior knowledge of the terrain and their willingness to do anything to keep the Spirit Cats from taking the city, even if it meant burning it down.

  In his original estimate of the campaign, he would already be on the second leg of securing the world by this time, tackling the League Central Command and Coordination facility; something he would expect to take a lot more effort than securing Dormuth. And if Dormuth has proven this formidable, what will that fortress bring? The idea left him cold; worried. They will send reinforcements. They cannot let a world as important as Marik fall without sending reinforcements, even if other worlds must be sacrificed. He knew that much about spheroid idea of empire. And we must have this world secured before then, or my vision might fail!

  “And here you sit, debating.” The cool tone sliced as cleanly through his thoughts as a beam of energy.

  He unclenched his jaw from its automatic reaction to the familiar voice. “Not all of us have the luxury of leading troops to their deaths without repercussions, Janis.”

  A barking laugh was a slap. “If any of my command doubted my ability to lead they would initiate a Trial of Grievance. None have done so. More than I can say for you, Commander.”

  “Any that would, Commander, are dead under your hand.” He closed his eyes, furious with himself for speaking such words out loud. His frustration was palpable. He thought he’d found the key to unlocking the potential of the warrior and leader, only to find her fighting him even more fiercely, as though she sensed he’d found her Achilles’ heel. And now she appears to have found your own Achilles’ heel, and is targeting it with laser-guided precision to undermine your authority. He sighed heavily.

  “The great Star Colonel Rikkard accuses, and yet who has taken the most ground in this city? Who will take this avenue and drive into the heart of the city once and for all? Unafraid!”

  Her voice did not shout triumph. That would be akin to saying that the launch of a DropShip was merely loud.

  “Purifiers, with me!”

  Before Rikkard could respond, Janis’ Nova Cat lurched into motion, followed by a reinforced Star of ’Mechs, vehicles and battlearmor; a spear cast at the city’s heart. Despite the 70 tons above the clawed feet hammering into the ferrocrete of the road, the road withstood the strain, with only indents marking the ’Mech’s passage.

  I cannot stop her without calling a Trial of Grievance. And I cannot risk a trial. Not now. Despite the deaths caused by her reckless leadership, she has achieved more victories than I or any other. And if I win without killing her, it will only submerge what is boiling below the surface. I must find a way to reach her before she destroys everything.

  He watched their progress, eyes flicking between the forward viewscreen and the bevy of secondary monitors, trying to guess when the trap would be sprung. Long seconds stretched to a minute, and Janis was nearly a full kilometer from their position.

  Is there no trap? The doubts already fluttering around his head like a flock of ravens seemed to multiply until they blocked the light; abruptly, a spectacular flash rent the late-morning air, followed by a billowing, sooty cloud that spurted from across the entire base of one of the midsized skyscrapers on the right-hand side; vibrations rocked the Shadow Hawk IIC; then the thunderous shock wave reached the kilometer distance, multiplying the unfolding chaos. Horror wracked Rikkard’s face; his skin, dried from the days of endless heated battle, stretched until it threatened to snap like damaged myomer.

  In horrid, slow motion—as though the building wished to savor the moment—the structure toppled into the street in an avalanche of unimaginable energy, completely burying Janis and her troops.

  Daniella Briggs willed her emotions to nothingness as she watched the replay again from the basement of the Jesuit Secondary School, only thirty blocks from the latest attempt by the Spirit Cats to penetrate to the heart of Dormuth.

  The Harving Trust and Loan building dated back two centuries to a decade-long resurgence of the pre-Star League-era fad of ornamenting buildings with a heavy brick façade. While any of the buildings along that stretch of road could’ve been brought down to accomplish the goal, her combat engineers argued that the building with the brick façade not only required fewer explosives to explode—a critical element in the decision, as their resources dwindled dangerously—but the bricks themselves would be higher-energy projectiles; the building’s own shrapnel. And the old, stately building produced the desired results, with battlearmor and even a ’Mech seen toppling under the high-velocity brick rain before the cloud of smoke and dust obscured the area. The entire structure came down, slamming into the buildings across the street in an orgy of shattered glass, imploding façades and massive structural damage that stretched for hundreds of meters from the point of impact.

  Six hundred and twenty-two million, three hundred and seventy-six thousand, four hundred and eight C-BILLS. And thirty-three cents. She closed her eyes as the to-the-penny report on the cost of the delaying action ran behind her eyelids like the ever-expanding white paper produced with careless abandon by a bean counter adding up material cost and ignoring the human cost. Not a single civilian life lost. But even if the war ends tomorrow, how many livelihoods have I just annihilat
ed? Not to mention, I’m sure, a committee for the protection of historically important buildings will scream bloody murder over this.

  A dark smile twisted her lips. I’ll let them flog menaked in Seagull Square, if it comes to that . . . because that would mean we won. We kept the world and most of Dormuth still stands.

  “General,” a voice interrupted.

  She pasted a more reasonable look on her face (she hoped) and peered through the darkness, trying to make out the fellow outlined by the brighter light in the hallway. “What?”

  “You told me to inform you immediately when a JumpShip arrived in-system.”

  Her heart leapt to her throat and she clasped her hands to keep them from reaching toward the comms officer and shaking him for an answer. “And?”

  “Nothing, Commander. Just a trader. No news that bears upon our situation.”

  “Thank you.”

  The man saluted smartly and departed, leaving General Briggs to slowly turn back to the table. To replay the desperation she’d been forced into once again, despite her best efforts to stop. Knowing the same scene would replay tomorrow and the day after and the day after that, until the entire world swam in a haze of dust and smoke and destruction.

  Where are you, Anson? Where are you?

  19

  Dormuth

  Mandoria, Marik

  Marik-Stewart Commonwealth

  15 December 3136

  Julietta Marik walked primly, holding her heavily laced dress above the dirt and soot covering the entryway of the thirty-plus-story building as far back as the first bank of elevators.

  Despite the four Oriente guards at her back and the two companies of men stationed at key points along the southeast corridor of the city leading from the DropPort to the field headquarters of the Spirit Cats, in case a fighting withdrawal became necessary—a possibility about which the commander in charge of her detail talked all too much on their way to the world of Marik—she felt more defenseless than ever in her life. A shiver raced down her spine, standing the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck on end until they practically snapped with barely controlled electricity.

  Herald of a coming storm?

  She tried to shrug off such superstitious nonsense. She had abandoned her fascination with palm reading, divination and other pastimes she associated with magic when she became a woman. But lately she found herself drawn to the rhythms of those more innocent times, wanting so desperately to see what tomorrow would bring that she surreptitiously read tea leaves, or studied bones taken from bird nests in the garden. As a child, she’d always wanted to meet a witch, but could never quite muster the courage to escape from the palace and make her way to the woods, which she just knew must be filled with witches and elves and haunted things that she could entice with some sweets to tell her of a Prince Charming and a vaulted castle, and more.

  “My lady.” A voice spoke from behind her, startling her back to the present. She glanced over her shoulder at the too-young face of the captain of her guard (was his name Tilson?); his broken nose a vague insult to her station. Hardly Prince Charming. She shivered again as her mind flashed on the unwanted touch of strong, callused hands. There are no Prince Charmings.

  “Yes?” she managed.

  “We have been granted permission to enter the basement facilities.”

  She looked at the man as though he were slowwitted before realizing she’d just been standing there, a thousand-meter stare on her face, looking at the stairs bending down and out of sight to the right between a pair of elementals that towered over her like gods, sculpted flesh shining like burnished metal even in the dim lighting. The ghostly touch of callused hands sparked again, more insistent.

  Though she kept any tremor from her voice, she knew her flesh betrayed her, as ever. “Of course.” She immediately stepped forward, trying to keep from rushing as she passed the towering guards and moved toward the lower levels of the building.

  The echoes of her footsteps bounced around, disorienting in the subdued light that grew dimmer before a brighter glow announced the end of the spiraling staircase. Her heart began to beat a heavier rhythm. Like descending into a cave. A cat’s cave. A man’s cave. The last thought ended her ability to think and she just concentrated on continuing to put one foot in front of the other, pushing on because with her guards behind her, she could not go back; the fear of their disappointment stronger than the fear of the unknown Spirit Cat who awaited her arrival.

  Julietta’s breath caught in her throat as the light fully enveloped her and she blinked in the brightness for a moment or two. This time she did stop, all thoughts of dark caves filled with the stink of savage men forgotten as a glorious room appeared before her, like visual manna to her starved eyes.

  The mammoth ballroom stretched at least one hundred meters, with a dozen fluted Corinthian columns marching along the entire length on either long side; the short sides were paneled in mirrors that provided a view into eternity. The tiled floor shone a brilliant burgundy, revealing the extravagance of Mansu-ri burnt ciana marble; the ceiling vied for equal prominence, with more than a dozen glorious murals decorating a roof of carved stone elaborate enough to rival almost anything this side of the palace on Oriente; four mammoth chandeliers and half a dozen smaller ones cast enough light to erase every shred of shadow attempting to hide in a nook or cranny.

  “How in the world are these chandeliers undamaged in the devastation wrought above?”

  “It was built to last, Julietta.”

  The deep voice startled her. A man in a light gray singlesuit came striding from her left. Leaning against the wall, waiting to pounce. She gulped several times as the piercing eyes sized her up, and the way he approached reminded her vividly of felines she had seen on Cunin’s safari stalking their prey. She nearly swayed with the visceral strength of her response.

  “You are a Spirit Cat,” was the only response she could manage as she tried to regain her equilibrium in the sudden onslaught of conflicting emotions. The man smiled as though she stated the obvious, leaving her struggling to cool her warming features once more.

  “It is beautiful,” she said, indicating their surroundings. As she took a deep breath of the dry air, she thought she caught a hint of jasmine. But why here?

  “Aff, Julietta. It is why we keep it lit. Why I keep it lit. To remind myself there is beauty, even in the midst of battle.”

  Her mind latched on to the part of his statement that she could use to become angry—an emotion preferable to any of the hundred others that had gripped her in random succession these last months. “My name is Julietta Marik,” she said coolly, doing her best to look down her nose at the taller man.

  “That is your tradition. Our tradition does not bestow last names upon those who have not earned them.”

  Memories of her Clan customs geopolitical classes floated to the surface, but she spoke again before her mind had come up with a solution. “But no man calls me by my first name without my permission.” Her heart skipped a beat as the Clanner frowned.

  Mother will kill me if he doesn’t. I’m losing controlof the situation, just because I cannot face him without anger as a shield. Fear rushed blood to her face.

  Then he smiled, tipping his head to the side. “I believe you have earned the title ‘lady,’ is that correct?”

  She stared at him for a moment, confused by the question. Then she caught his use of the word earned and understood where he was going. A smile at the memories tugged at her lips. “I believe I earned that title a long time ago.”

  He inclined his head. “Then lady it shall be.”

  She looked expectantly at the Clansmen. His silent, piercing stare began to unnerve her once more. I refuse to invite myself in, you lout. “You will call me Lady Julietta, and I will call you . . . ?” She knew his name, but if he was going to be rude . . .

  He inclined his head again, as though she somehow scored a point. “Star Colonel Rikkard.”

  “No last name?” she a
sked, then blushed furiously at her own lack of manners.

  He showed no reaction. “I have not yet gained a Bloodname, lady.”

  “Ah,” she responded. She looked meaningfully at a small door set discreetly in the short wall nearest them, but Rikkard let the silence stretch again. Unable to stand it any longer, she opened her mouth to speak just as Rikkard broke the silence.

  "Using the trader JumpShip as subterfuge to land was very clever of you. But why have you come?”

  She gestured at the echoing hall. “Is this the proper place for such a discussion? Perhaps a more private place?”

  “There is no more private place than this, lady. And I am very busy. Why have you come?”

  Unused to standing practically in the doorway to negotiate with a potential ally, she mentally shrugged, took a calming breath, then plunged in. Clanners like blunt. I can give them blunt.

  “My mother, Lady Jessica Marik, has sent me to offer to the Spirit Cats the friendship and support of the Oriente Protectorate in this time of challenge and opportunity. You obviously intend to stay, yet week after week you become more bogged down while the Commonwealth forces burn down the very world you are trying to capture.” She licked her lips, knowing she didn’t understand all the nuances of what she was saying, but confident she was convincing in repeating what she’d learned from her captain of the guard during the transit in-system. “The Marik-Stewart Commonwealth will be sending reinforcements. They have no choice. In fact, they could be arriving in-system any day now. Do you have reinforcements on the way, Star Colonel? You could have, if you accept my mother’s hand in friendship.”

  Rikkard remained motionless as she spoke, then let the silence stretch again, broken only by the occasional creak of a boot as one of her guards shifted. I must remind them that their conduct reflects on me. There should be no movement!