Pandora's Gambit

by Randall N Bills

  “I can’t guess. They may have been at the end of their recharge cycle, or they could be close enough to finished to risk using their fusion drives to quick-charge their K-F drives."

  “Or,” Nikol said thoughtfully, as she adjusted her right foot’s magslip to stay adhered to the deck, “they could be bluffing. They could’ve arrived today, which would mean they have had no chance to charge their drives even using their fusion engines—not without risking damage and stranding themselves here. They could simply be bluffing, hoping we’ll push ourselves too hard, too fast, hoping to stall their jump.”

  The smile reached his eyes this time as he nodded. “Well calculated, my lady. But even if they get away, we’ve hurt them. Badly.”

  A strand of her hair slid onto her cheek and she abruptly scratched her face as she tried without success to tuck it back into the knot at the nape of her neck. Suddenly, she nodded as she grasped the full implications. “Even if they escape, they’ve likely deployed all their own aerospace assets.”

  “Not likely. They have . . . unless they’ve jury-rigged space on their DropShips for more aerospace fighters, which I highly doubt.”

  “And if our forces carry the day . . .”

  “Unless they’ve got a real good surprise up their sleeve, we will.”

  “Then we’ve just put a hurt on the Commonwealth they may not be able to recover from.”

  “We throw up a blockade here as we did in the Oceana system, and any additional reinforcements we either take, or they’re so damaged fighting their way through our blockade it makes no difference.”

  “They can jump around Oceana or Angell.”

  The man nodded. “Of course. They could even go through unpopulated systems in this area. But that takes extra weeks, and accepting the risk of blowing a helium seal and leaving yourself stranded in a system no one may visit for years, if ever. Not even the most dedicated men are generally willing to commit themselves to such risks.”

  “Then we’ve isolated Marik.”

  “As best we can, yes. Another hour and the JumpShips will either jump, if they can, or capitulate. Either way, it’s time to start thinking about our ultimate prize.”

  The loosening knot turned into a fierce spark of determination. To capture the prize; to hold Marik.

  Elis is always talking about her angles, how she hedges against the outcome she wants to prevent and improves the chances for the outcome she wants toachieve . . . Maybe this success can be my angle. Maybe winning Marik will make marriage to Frederick less important to Mother.

  She wet her lips, determined to ignore the fact that her mother would do whatever she pleased, regardless of her children’s angles; at least, Nikol had yet to find an angle that worked against her mother.

  24

  Dormuth

  Mandoria, Marik

  Marik-Stewart Commonwealth

  28 April 3137

  Julietta struggled to maintain her composure as the verbal assault continued.

  “How is it that even more Commonwealth reinforcements have arrived in-system before we have seen even a single Protectorate ship? Where is your vaunted aid, lady? Where?”

  The scorn was unmistakable. She swallowed, the office abruptly too small. Too far underground. Too . . . simply too.

  “You promised aid, lady. That was part of our agreement. Part of our pact. There was no rede . . . no trothkin present to witness. But that should not matter between people of honor. We cannot hold out much longer. . . .”

  Julietta braced herself as Star Colonel Rikkard drew in a ragged breath. But instead of launching into a further tirade, Rikkard glanced beyond her to the door of the small office, as though he suddenly wished to be any place but here.

  Like me. She ground her teeth, wondering how much more of this yelling Tilson would put up with before he barged in again. Despite the ludicrousness of the entire situation—not to mention the improprieties involved and how the hair stood up on her arms when it dawned on her what had occurred—she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips when she remembered the gleam of protective adoration in his eyes when he burst into the room after Rikkard began shouting. However good Tilson might be—and he would never have been chosen for this assignment if he wasn’t up to the task of protecting her—Rikkard was simply better. And in his current mood, with his eyes so wide the whites outshone everything else in the room . . . Tilson won’t last long.

  “Star Colonel. Our agreement was very clearly stated; I cannot be held responsible if your understanding of that agreement was flawed.” She suppressed a nervous shudder at her audacity, then straightened her spine even more, if that were possible. He needs me. I do not need him! Of course, she did need him if she were to salvage any respect from her mother and Nikol, but she managed to ignore that fact for the moment.

  Rikkard slowly moved his eyes from beyond Julietta’s head to look her full in the face, a furrow deepening on his forehead until a storm stood latent on his face, thunder and lightning flashing behind distant, cloudy eyes.

  “The agreement provided for military intervention,” Julietta rushed on, almost breathless in an effort to forestall what would surely be an epic response. Sweat (sweat!) trickled between her breasts.

  “Exactly!” Rikkard almost shouted as he heaved up out of the chair, a belligerent whale surging up from the depths to bellow its frustration at the sky. “Military intervention. That was what you agreed to provide!” He began pacing the length of the office; considering its small size, it brought him uncomfortably close during each circuit.

  “But the agreement did not specify ground military intervention.”

  Rikkard froze midstride, the thunderous look and distant lightning once more charging his face with foreboding. “What?”

  “Our deal did not make any specific mention of ground military intervention.”

  “What other type of military intervention is there, lady?”

  Careful, Julietta . . . that tone masks a calm before the storm. A potentially terrifying storm. She swallowed several times to regain her voice, then continued, knowing that she could delay imparting this information no longer. “Planetary interdiction. If all has gone according to plan, both the Oceana and Angell Two systems are under Protectorate control. Any glance at a stellar map will show that without those two key systems, the Commonwealth will find it virtually impossible to reinforce Marik. The last reinforcements to arrive are the last you will see.” Please let it be so. “Protectorate forces will arrive soon enough to complete the full cordoning of Marik.”

  Something strange crept across Rikkard’s face, like a foul wind stirring the clouds that scarred his face, as long moments stretched into almost a full minute. Julietta struggled to maintain her poise and eye contact, valiantly ignoring the sweat that now dampened her armpits.

  Her eyes moved away from Rikkard’s face for a fraction of a second and light flared shockingly, brilliantly and then a high-pitched wail sounded and then pain blossomed, first on the back of her head and then on her face. Confusion reigned as she clawed through the pain wrapping her senses; a cacophony swelled as the door banged open and then multiple voices exploded; she might as well have listened to the braying of a pen of donkeys for all she could make out what was happening.

  Get a hold of yourself, Julietta. This is it. This is important. Your life depends on this! She knew it as surely as she finally understood she’d been struck in the face and had flopped backward like a fish, likely banging her head on the floor. He hit me. He hit me! Understanding dawned; he had been standing a good two meters away from her when her eyes drifted. Oh my heavens . . . at that speed, if he wanted me dead . . . But I am alive. So what is going on? Concentrate. The coolness of the floor bled into her hands when she flexed her fingers, and this seemed to bring some relief to her throbbing head. The voices resolved into coherency, as though her brain had found the right frequency again.

  “How dare you strike Lady Marik!”

  Tilson. That was Tilson.


  “This ends now, surat. You have gone too far. Making a deal. Like a moneygrubbing Sea Fox! Like a fat Lyran merchant! We are Clan. We do not make deals! In front of these witnesses I call a Trial of Annihilation. A Trial of Grievance cannot wash away the stain you have spilled on the Spirit Cats. Only the purging of your blood will answer.”

  She didn’t recognize the voice, but loathing dripped from each word like a visceral slime.

  “You will not ignore me!”

  Tilson again. “Tilson?” She only managed a whisper.

  “You have no right to call a Trial of Annihilation. There is no Clan conclave here, Janis.”

  Rikkard now.

  “Stop ignoring me!” Tilson’s almost petulant yell might have been funny if the scene weren’t so desperately dangerous.

  “Tilson!” She finally managed to speak loud enough to be heard, though as a result her head rang like a church bell.

  “So be it, surat,” the woman’s voice continued (Janis?). Then a Trial of Grievance it is. But know that when I am triumphant, you will be dead.”

  “My lady.” Tilson spoke at her elbow, and she realized he must be crouching by her side.

  “Do not say another word,” she whispered.

  “But, my lady—”

  She cut him off with a slight shake of her head, which she immediately regretted. “My honor can wait, Captain. What is going on?”

  “When you screamed I broke into the room,” he began, voice soft, but harsh, “only to be pushed out of the way by a bald woman and a small cohort behind her. They are—”

  She once more cut him off, this time by touching his hand. Her vision cleared from black to gray and then the room swam dizzyingly into focus, which helped her head not at all. Though they were still blurry, she could at last make out her fingers, splayed and trembling.

  “I think I know what’s going on,” she whispered. “We are about to see the undoing of the Spirit Cats, or perhaps the ascendance of a new leader who will not care to treat with any . . . spheroids.” She’d seen enough showdowns between Jessica and other world leaders to know what was afoot.

  A scuffle broke out; she lifted her head, suddenly afraid of being struck again, and nearly passed out from the movement. She leaned against Captain Tilson to keep from falling over. The scuffling turned into the slap of flesh on flesh and the grunting of strenuous effort. “What is going on?”

  “They are fighting, my lady.”

  “In here? It’s too small!”

  “For what they are about, my lady,” he continued, voice suddenly flat, clearly speaking with expert knowledge, “it is large enough.”

  “Are we in danger?”

  “No, my lady. This will be over quickly.” The resignation in his voice quieted any further response, and she closed her eyes and concentrated on the sound. The eerie lack of banter confused her. In all the action holovids she’d watched as a child, combatants always exchanged banter, boasting. But here, there was only the whisper of well-placed feet and then the slap of flesh against flesh and the sharp intake or exhalation of breath; the echoes in the bare-walled room made it all incomprehensible.

  “Here it comes, my lady,” Tilson whispered, voice barely audible, though for the briefest instant his lips brushed her ear. She ignored the quick thrill up her spine, as the sound of a flurry of impacts announced a shift in the balance of the fight; her stomach clenched at the audible snap of a bone breaking. She carefully opened her eyes and took in the strange tableau: she and Tilson on the floor against one wall; a woman (Janis?) on the floor, holding her shoulder and writhing in pain; Rikkard looming over her, his breathing ragged; a group of Spirit Cat warriors lining the opposite wall. Absolutely claustrophobic! How they’d fought in such confinement was beyond her.

  “What say you, Janis? Accept defeat.”

  “Never. Never again,” she hissed between gritted teeth, her eyes widening until even at this distance and angle Julietta wanted to lean away from the fiery flames of such hatred. To be the target of such animosity . . .

  “Yield.”

  The sorrow in the word clutched at Julietta’s throat.

  “Never!” Janis hissed again, and struggled to stand.

  Rikkard stood looking down at her, his shoulders slumped, the very essence of defeat echoed in every line of his posture. Like a wounded horse, Janis thrashed to regain her feet, but apparently the shattering of her shoulder bone was too much. Rikkard’s head lifted and his harrowed eyes found Julietta’s, and the black abyss she looked into brought an itch to the back of her eyes that she knew might never go away. And she knew what must be done. What a leader must do, despite the horror . . . and for the first time, gazing into the eyes of an alien Clansman, Julietta was forced to face the realization that she might not have what it took to lead a nation.

  Is this what you have known all along, Mother? The itching spilled into tears that tracked hot trails down her cheeks; propriety forgotten, she pressed herself into Captain Tilson’s side, though she could not tear her eyes away from Rikkard.

  Almost quicker than she could follow, though she stared directly at him, Rikkard heaved the entire weight of his body into the blow that struck Janis’ neck, killing her instantly.

  Julietta began vomiting and couldn’t stop.

  An emptiness seemed to fill the universe.

  Rikkard Nova Cat, the blood of the kill slicking his fingers, stood over the dead body of Janis. He didn’t hear the vomiting in the corner, or see the rest of those in the room. Instead, all he saw was the red of his failure spreading in a slow pool . . . and haunted, piercing eyes. Slowly, painfully, he closed his eyes.

  I have failed.

  The mantra marched with painful clarity through his awareness, stripping him to the bone.

  I have failed.

  Stripping away all his self-delusions of the glory to be found in achieving sanctuary for the Spirit Cats.

  I have failed.

  Stripping him and leaving him a newborn, as though recently decanted from an iron womb, ready to be filled once more.

  I have failed.

  It might have gone on forever, until Rikkard died standing in that spot, but a light in the darkness within pulled at him. Eyes he thought he recognized demanded he give them heed.

  “Does it call to you?” Kev’s words undulated along the waves of darkness from that distant point of light. “Why do you come here?”

  The light disappeared, then suddenly engulfed him with shocking clarity. His vision was filled with a canteen of earth . . . his canteen . . . sand taken from Mallory’s World. Kept always in his cockpit.

  Strength.

  Ian Davion.

  Is this how you felt? Were you stripped from your throne and of all your glory and power until nothing remained but strength? Strength to do your duty and save your command?

  His eyes slowly opened and rested upon those around him. While most held their disillusionment at the death of their commander, they universally held the loss of hope. These warriors have given up believing they will live to leave this world. Given up hope that this could possibly be our sanctuary.

  For a moment, as though peering through the dirty cockpit viewscreen of a departing Davion Mech Warrior, Rikkard thought he saw Ian’s ’Mech turning back, placing itself in the tight confines of the canyon like a dam to protect his fleeing men. A dam that would only break with his death, once they were saved.

  Abruptly he knew those eyes; knew where this vision of Ian Davion originated. Knew those haunting, strength-filled eyes . . . though she didn’t know it. For an instant, right before the kill, he’d locked eyes with Lady Marik. And in those eyes, he found unsuspected strength. In that despicably timid woman’s eyes . . . his new clarity brought wisdom. For despite her obvious horror at dealing with him, and in the midst of a raging war, she did her duty. Despite the lifetime of hardships and disappointments writ large on her face—the brutal evidence of him striking her, the large welt already bluish and swollen along he
r left eye and brow—she did her duty.

  Rikkard slowly nodded. It had come to this. Time for him to set aside all self-delusion. His speeches to Janis of finding sanctuary now rang as hollow as her needless death. All this time I wished to find sanctuary for the glory of claiming it. Now there is only protecting my command. Protecting these men. Protecting the Spirit Cats. To do my duty, despite my fear.

  I will do whatever I must, my honor forfeit.

  Clan Sea Fox CargoShip Voidswimmer

  Zenith Jump Point, Marik

  Marik-Stewart Commonwealth

  OvKhan Petr Kalasa luxuriated in the aftereffects of the hyperjump, pitying those poor souls who could not stomach such brilliance. “Not all are destined to drink of the wonders of the universe.”

  "OvKhan?" a comm tech asked.

  Petr smiled and shook his head. “Nothing. Transmit immediately. I am sure Star Colonel Rikkard will find the news of Clan Wolf’s invasion of the Republic of the Sphere very interesting indeed. Despite the months that have passed since this news was fresh, and the distance from their current rampages to Marik . . . this is news all Clansmen must hear.”

  "Yes, ovKhan."

  The man immediately turned to his work, while Petr began cycling through electronic reports from his DropShip captains who wished to burn in-system and see what the waters of Marik might bring, despite the war they all knew still raged on the planet below. Petr denied all requests for now, replying personally to each. Through the harshest of lessons he had learned to deal fairly and equally with all those he shepherded.

  "OvKhan."

  Petr glanced up. “Tech?”

  “We need to verify, considering the distance, but it appears that a DropShip has lifted off-world and is burning toward our jump point.”

  “Really?”

  "Aff, ovKhan. It is burning in excess of two g’s.”

  “Really?” Petr leaned back in the floating command chair on the bridge of his CargoShip, the possibilities unfolding as he stretched his neck until the vertebrae popped satisfactorily.