“That noise. That murmuring, or thumping.”
Carol tilted her head. “Oh, is that still going on?” She paused. “So it is. That’s nothing. Just the protestors.”
“The protestors? What are they doing?”
“Drumming,” Carol said, her head bobbing this way and that. “Just below the legal noise limit. They’ve been at it for weeks.”
“Really?”
“Yes. They’re very…intrepid. Apparently there’s a few engineers in their numbers, and they’ve managed to figure out the best location in which to drum for the sound to carry into these offices.”
“Why doesn’t he have them arrested?”
“They’re not breaking any laws.”
“That hasn’t stopped him before.”
The corners of Carol’s mouth twitched. “Of course. To be honest, I don’t know why he has tolerated them. They’ve been quite aggressive. At night, they move so it carries better into the captain-general’s private chambers.” She smiled, a quick, hesitant expression. “What they don’t know is that the captain-general hasn’t been to his private chambers in weeks.”
“He hasn’t?”
“No. He’s generally here. At least, I think he is. He’s here when I arrive in the morning, here when I leave at night and the security detail says he doesn’t go anywhere. Someone brings him a fresh change of clothes each morning.”
“He’s sleeping in his office?”
Carol shook her head seriously. “Oh no. I don’t think he sleeps much.”
Daggert looked at the door. “Maybe I should go in.”
“He wouldn’t like that,” Carol said.
Daggert stood. “I think I should go in anyway.” He walked toward the door. It could be a short trip—if Carol decided he shouldn’t go in, she wouldn’t press the button to unlatch the door, and he’d be stuck out here. But as he walked by, she stared at him, eyes wide, jaw clenched, and pressed the button.
Anson was at his desk. He was motionless except for his right index finger, which tapped rhythmically on the edge of his gunmetal gray desk. It beat out the same rhythm as the distant protest drums.
“I apologize for walking in like this, my lord, but I thought since we had a scheduled appointment, you would not mind me coming in.”
Anson said nothing. The captain-general did not acknowledge his presence.
“I’ve talked to a half dozen survivors of Helm,” Daggert said, “including one who just regained consciousness this morning, Captain Zeke Carleton. He’s still quite disoriented, but from what I could piece together his story confirms General Cameran-Witherspoon’s theory of a failure of morale. It was a difficult situation for all the troops. I blame myself for that, since it was my planning that put them there. I accept full responsibility for their failure to follow orders.”
“You can’t resign,” Anson said. The words came out like bullets, as if Anson had to force them, one by one, through his teeth.
“Yes, my lord, you made that clear back on Atreus. I leave it to your judgment what the most appropriate response to my failure should be.”
Anson said nothing. He still stared straight ahead at nothing in particular. Daggert shifted his stance a little, trying to get in the line of Anson’s gaze, but it was clear that the captain-general was not looking at anything in the room, and that he would not see Daggert no matter where he stood.
“I’ve been able to piece together a semicoherent narrative of the events leading up to the massacre. If you’d like I could walk you through it.”
He waited for a response. Again, none came.
“The units left on Helm followed the plan for the first part of the battle,” Daggert began. “They used their artillery to slow the initial Lyran advance, then backed toward the center of Helmdown. By the accounts I have heard, the pressure by the Wolves to the east was—”
“How many were killed?” Anson said.
“My lord?”
“This massacre. How many.”
“It’s difficult to say. There were many troops that fell in the battle, and the massacre occurred just after the last of the fighting troops fell. It’s difficult to draw a line between those who were killed as part of the massacre and—”
“Give me a number.”
“With the limited information I have and the uncertainty of—”
“Give me a number!” Anson yelled. Daggert quickly looked at him to see if the anger had made the captain-general’s eyes finally come to life, but it hadn’t. His voice sounded lively, but the rest of him looked dead.
Daggert pulled a number out of the air, a wild guess based on incomplete and contradictory information. “Between fifty and one hundred troops, my lord. Including supporting personnel.”
The drums continued to beat as Anson absorbed this information.
“Small,” Anson said. “A fraction of an army.”
“Yes, sir.”
Daggert waited for Anson to continue his train of thought, but it seemed that was all he had to say. The captain-general fell quiet again.
Daggert didn’t know what else to do, so he continued his narrative. “The troops then tried to make their escape to the south, but a Lyran unit, the First Steiner Strikers, had managed to run all the way around the city and head them off. At this point, the commanding officer of—”
“That’s enough.”
“My lord?”
“I said that’s enough. I don’t want to hear any more.”
“I understand this is a difficult subject, my lord, but the information points to a serious breach of international protocol by—”
“I don’t care. I don’t want to hear any more.”
“You don’t care?”
Anson didn’t answer. He continued to stare at nothing.
“Perhaps we should review the current troop deployment here,” Daggert said after a moment’s silence. “Your generals have served you well so far, but there are a few possible improvements I could—”
Once again, Anson interrupted him. “No. I don’t want to talk about that.”
“My lord, the Lyrans and Wolves are certainly preparing to come here. Our time is very short, and I believe—”
“I’m not going to talk about that right now.”
“Yes, my lord. Perhaps we can schedule another session later so I can—”
“No.”
Daggert stood over Anson’s desk, bewildered. He never would have believed there would be a day when he would wish for Anson to exhibit one of his trademark displays of anger. This shell that was sitting behind the desk, this machine that could only offer contrary remarks, was of little use to anyone.
Frustration came over Daggert in a wave. “Damn it, Anson, why didn’t you just let me resign?”
Again, the captain-general did not respond.
“Did you really need me to go down with you? If you’re intent on sitting here and doing nothing, you could have done that without my help! Why not accept my resignation and just let me go?”
Nothing.
Daggert wanted to reach across the desk and slap Anson Marik good and hard, hard enough so that his heavy jowls would shake for hours. Hard enough to unleash decades of stored-up aggression. Hard enough to make the man move.
But he didn’t. He took a deep breath, and once again he was himself.
“I am going to leave,” he said. “I am going to bring my recommendations to the generals and tell them they have your approval. Then I am going to keep talking with them and keep working to save this planet. You can sit at your desk for as long as you want, but the rest of us will be doing the actual work that you apparently can’t!”
His words were designed to hurt, but they bounced off Anson with no discernible impact. Daggert stayed still for a moment more. Then, when Anson still did not speak, Daggert turned and left the office.
Carol looked like she had moved her chair to her right, taking her away from the office door, giving her more distance in case Anson came out in a rage. Daggert
saw her flinch when the door opened, then relax when she saw it wasn’t Anson.
“Is everything…” Carol said. “Is he…”
“I don’t think he’ll be coming out,” Daggert said. “It turns out the whole thing was my mistake. The captain-general had no desire to see me.”
He did not bother to answer her puzzled expression as he walked away.
17
Helmdown, Helm
Lyran Commonwealth
13 May 3138
“Come on a walk with me,” Alaric said.
He saw the surprised look in Verena’s eyes. “What?” she said.
“I want to walk through the city one last time before we leave. I want you to come with me.”
Verena stood, leaving one of his uniforms unfolded. “Forgive me for saying this, but that sounds oddly sentimental.”
“It is nothing of the kind,” he said. “This is conquered territory. It used to work for Anson Marik. Now it works for us. I need to make sure it will function when I am gone. Nothing more.”
“When you say ‘us,’ do you mean both the Clan and the Lyrans or the Clan alone?”
Alaric smiled. “That is one of the details to be worked out.”
Alaric wore his full dress uniform, and Verena wore a plain jumpsuit. It was appropriate—both of them dressed to their station.
Once the defenders had been completely defeated, Alaric had considered taking over some of the buildings and using them for his new base camp. The sad fact of the matter, however, was that a large number of the buildings in Helmdown were too damaged to use, and many of those that were intact were grubby little buildings that were no better than the temporary quarters the Clan brought with them. Rather than scour the city for decent accommodations, Alaric had simply ordered all his ground units to come into the kilometer-wide swath of the city his bombers had cleared and set up camp there. In short order, they had a new subcity within the capital of Helm.
The ground had finally dried from the April rains, though the air did not seem to have grown any warmer. Winds still blew cold from the northern mountains, but the occasional appearance of the sun took the edge off. Alaric enjoyed the cold—it inspired motion. Cold was a reminder that sitting still was not a good way to survive.
As might be expected, Helmdown had been slow to heal in the two weeks since the battle. The local and planetary officials were either dead or missing, and Alaric had no desire to track down the survivors. They were right to hide—if they showed up in town, they would be imprisoned or executed—but they were not so important that Alaric needed to spend his troops’ time and energy to find them. If they remained in hiding, they could stay alive and stay out of Alaric’s way, which, as far as he was concerned, was best for all involved.
Duke Vedet had established some sort of provisional government, and Alaric did not interfere. Alaric was confident that he could get what he wanted from this planet without having to go through the ponderous mechanisms of government. That was one of the points war made for you—it convinced people that it was in their best interest to accede to your will, whether you established a bureaucracy or not.
Like the government, business within Helmdown had ground to a halt during the stalemate before the battle and had not yet recovered any significant momentum. However, focusing the battle on Helmdown had its advantages; some industrial concerns in neighboring areas had not been touched by the fighting and were able to resume operations as soon as the firing had stopped. Metal was once again being extracted from the mountains around Helm, and some of it was even being processed. It was far from a king’s ransom, but Alaric intended to make the planet pay a significant price for the damage his troops had suffered.
There was one form of commerce, however, that was in full and profitable operation, a business that never ceased during wartime. The war profiteers were active and looking for a way to benefit from the fighting, and of all the people in the city they had the least difficulty switching their loyalties. Their cravenness inspired Alaric’s contempt, but he knew it was not important for him to like these people—he only needed to know how to use them to his benefit.
He led Verena out of the bombed-out area and into one of the taller buildings in town, a six-story building whose top two floors were currently uninhabitable. On the third floor there was an office that had a metal desk, a wooden chair, a lot of sawdust and some scattered two-by-fours. Alaric didn’t know what this office had been two weeks ago, but it was now the office of Betty Brillat, the most capable of the Helmdown scavengers Alaric had met.
He led Verena up the dimly lit concrete stairs to Brillat’s office. Brillat was waiting inside, filing her nails. She had short black hair that stuck tight to her head, curving down her jaw almost to her chin. The style made her round face look a little longer, a little harsher. She leaned back in her chair, and stayed reclined even when Alaric entered. The exaggeratedly casual air Brillat affected did not impress Alaric, but if it was what she needed to do to feel comfortable and do her job, then so be it.
“Mr. Wolf,” Brillat said in greeting. Alaric did not know if her ignorance was genuine or intentional, and again he did not care. He would be off this planet soon enough, and he could put up with minor annoyances until that happened.
“Time is pressing,” he said, skipping any formalities or small talk. “I assume you are close to delivering on the items we discussed.”
“You assume right,” Brillat said. “Most of it’s coming from out of town, you understand. Nothing personal, but you and your Lyran friends did a pretty thorough job of trashing anything valuable in this area.”
That was a lie, of course. They had inflicted a lot of damage on the city to be sure, but in a city as broad and sprawling as Helmdown, there were certainly some areas that had been untouched. On the other hand, without any government presence in the city, looters ruled the day, so Alaric understood why Brillat had to look for goods out of town.
“I need it before I leave,” Alaric said. “Our repairs cannot wait.”
“Right, right, right. Well, I’ll tell you what, you can pick up the first shipment tomorrow. Right here. Bring a truck.”
“Fine. I will also provide my own security. What do you think I should expect?”
Brillat smirked. “Expect trouble. Word will get out about the stuff you want, and most people will be able to guess who it’s going to. And they don’t like you much.” Brillat paused, as if waiting for Alaric to react to what she said. Since she was not telling him anything he did not know, he remained silent.
“Word’s gotten around that some of the Silver Hawk Irregulars wanted to surrender, but you wouldn’t let ’em. There’s all sorts of stories about what you said to them. They’ve given you a lot of good lines. They say the Silver Hawks were practically begging for their lives—which I don’t buy, that doesn’t sound like the Silver Hawk Irregulars, but I guess some people think that makes a better story—and you said ‘The only reason I might consider letting you live is so you can beg a bit longer.’” Brillat chuckled. “I’m pretty sure that’s a line from a holovid released in the last century. And there’s another story—this one’s good because it’s just too cheesy to be believed. They say the Silver Hawks offered to surrender, and you said ‘No. You are going down with Helm.’ Get it? Down with Helm? Helmdown?” She shook her head. “That’s just stupid.”
None of this surprised Alaric. He was very familiar with the deep-seated need of people in the Inner Sphere to cast the Clans as villains in whatever drama was unfolding in their heads. If Alaric was at all concerned with winning the hearts and minds of the people of the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth during this campaign, he would have pondered the matter in more depth. Since he was not, though, he knew it was easy to let them hate him while he spent his time on tasks that were worth his attention.
“There will be enough security here tomorrow,” he said.
“Oh, I’m sure of it,” Brillat said with a wave of her hand. “To be honest, the people don�
�t like you, but I think most of them are all talk. Deep down, they’re mostly afraid of you. You’re the wild card, you know. They never know who you’re going to massacre next!”
Brillat may have intended that line to be offensive, or it may have just been a weak attempt at humor. Again, though, Alaric did not care enough to do anything about it.
“Tomorrow, then,” he said, and he turned to leave.
He heard Verena following close behind. When he spoke to her, he did not turn to her, not even his head. He expected her to keep up if she wanted to hear.
“All these games the Inner Sphere politicians play,” he said. “All their efforts to preen and promote themselves, to make themselves seem powerful or intimidating, are nonsense. Their games are unnecessary. All that is needed is action. Show what you are capable of doing, what you are willing to do, and people who are accustomed to weaker leaders quickly fall in line.” He walked silently for a moment. “This is Duke Vedet’s great weakness. He wants power, but he is not willing to do all that it takes to get it. He is too restrained by his Inner Sphere conditioning.”
“Forgive me, Star Colonel, but who are you talking to?” Verena said.
Alaric stopped and turned to her.
“You,” he said. “Who else?”
“It sounded like you were trying to convince me of something,” Verena said. “Though I do not think I disagreed with you about anything.”
“These are principles of leadership,” Alaric said. “You would do well to learn and understand them.”
“I was a commander before you captured me, remember. I have been a leader before.”
Alaric frowned. “You came out on the losing end of that fight. I thought you might benefit by hearing advice from the commander who beat you.”
“Victory makes you feel pretty good about yourself, quiaff?”
He didn’t twist his torso. He just let his left arm fly up quickly, catching Verena in the jaw with the back of his hand. Her head snapped back, but she stood her ground. He glared at her, and she glared back. Then she brought her hand to her chin and dabbed the cut Alaric had opened on her face. “My apologies, Star Colonel.”
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