The Prince's head came up. "Name me one case. . . ."
"I can't, dammit, but that's not the point."
"What is, then?"
"The point is that you are more than capable of developing blind spots." Galen jabbed a finger in Victor's direction. "And coupled with the second trait, it's getting you into trouble right now."
Victor fought to keep his temper under control. "And that second trait is?"
Galen laughed lightly. "Polite folks say you're driven, others say you're overcompensating for the fact that you're not tall. I'd probably say you're goal-oriented, but it all boils down to the same thing—you have an unequaled capacity for obsessiveness."
Victor waved Galen's assertion off angrily. "I don't have to listen to this."
"Yes you do, dammit. You owe it to me because I've bloody well saved your life. I got your butt off Trellwan and I was ready to die with you on Alyina. You owe listening to me to all the men and women who died so you could live. If you don't listen, if you don't change, you're going to be a laughingstock and history will say those who sacrificed were a bunch of clowns."
Galen wouldn't let Victor interrupt. "You're obsessing on the damned murder of your mother."
"You would too, if—"
"No, I wouldn't." Galen shook his head slowly. "My parents died in the War of 3039. Dracs killed them. Call it collateral damage, whatever, it doesn't matter. They died at the hands of Kurita soldiers. My desire for revenge sent me off to the military, but I grew up. I realized that my parents had their counterparts in Combine civilians who also died when we hit their planets. Fate hadn't singled me out for the destiny of leading a crusade to destroy the Draconis Combine.
"Looking at reality in the cold clarity of mature thought, I realized my job was to protect the people of the Federated Commonwealth. I'm not here to avenge my parents, but to make sure no one else loses theirs. Since I met you I've gained a greater perspective and I realize the well-being of the Federated Commonwealth affects billions and billions of lives. If my role of protector means I have to tell you that your head is so far up your ass that you could bite off your own tonsils, I will." He glanced down. "Until last month I could have, but I haven't needed to until now and it is!"
The Prince had started to build up a head of steam, but Galen's one-two punch knocked it back out of him. I never knew his parents were dead. . . . Why didn't I? He is a friend, a close friend. Why didn't he ever tell me? Victor realized in an instant that he had always treated Galen like a faithful retainer, not a real human being. Galen Cox had become for him what Ardan Sortek had been to his father—an aide and a bellwether. It dawned on him that Galen was Horatio to his Hamlet, and that comparison sank a dagger into Victor's heart.
Am I obsessing? The moment he asked the question, he knew the answer. He also felt compelled to defend his action. "I'm just trying to find out who killed my mother."
"That is nonsense and you know it, sir." Galen walked over to the screen and rapped it with his knuckles. "You've been torturing yourself because you imagine that you could somehow have saved her. You're thinking, dreaming, that if you'd been there you could have prevented her death. You would have spotted the bomb. You would have prevented the blast from killing her.
"Grow up!" Galen shook his head slowly and with a finality that killed Victor's wildest "what if" fantasies. "The Intelligence Secretariat has gone over the tapes again and again. I know you've seen their frame-by-frame analysis hundreds of times. They know everything that happened and how it happened. There is nothing more you can learn, yet you persist. If you don't deal with the problems that is creating, you're going to wish you had been there and within the blast radius."
"What are you talking about?"
Galen folded his arms across his chest. "You never get out, but I do. The way rumors have been running rampant in the city, I'd guess they're probably spreading across the whole Federated Commonwealth by now. The stories range from the ridiculous to the truly vicious. People are saying that you have taken charge of the investigation to cover for your mother's murderer."
The Prince's eyes narrowed. "And who would that be?"
"An agent working for you." Galen glanced at the screen again. "Morgan Kell."
"What!" Victor hit the Rewind button, then punched another that switched the read-laser to a different section of the holovid disk. Instead of the close-up front view, the scene appeared as shot from a profile camera that showed Morgan Kell and his wife sitting with their chairs half-turned toward the podium. As Victor punched the Play button, the scene began to crawl forward.
Morgan turned back toward the camera to smile at his wife. As he did so, his napkin dropped from his lap. Twisting around, he half-ducked down to retrieve it. At precisely that moment the flowers exploded and the whole scene dissolved into static.
Victor popped the viewpoint over to another camera, which presented an elevated three-quarters view. Thick smoke billowed up and out from where the podium had stood and little flames licked at the corners of the semicircular hole blown in the dais itself. From the right side of the screen a nightmare creature emerged. What was left of his dress jacket hung in smoldering tatters on his body. Blood streamed from his nose and ears. His broad chest hid his right arm from view until a security man leaped up onto the dais and tried to grab him.
Morgan Kell pushed the man way with his left arm, flinging him into the air and out into the crowd. As he did so, his torso twisted and Victor saw a skeletal arm hanging from Morgan's right shoulder. The mercenary knelt where Melissa had been standing and reached his left hand out toward her body.
The Prince killed the picture. "How can they suspect Morgan? He lost his arm."
"And you bought him a new one, Highness."
"My God, Galen, the man went to help my mother even before realizing the blast had killed his wife! If that were not enough, he is one of my closest living relatives." Victor looked up, appalled. "How can they believe such things?"
"They do so, Highness, because you give them nothing else to think about." Galen shook his head. "You are now the ruler of a star-spanning empire. You are not some amateur detective. You have many more duties to attend to than to see if you can spot the vital clue concerning your mother's death. I can tell you, I don't think that clue exists. I think Curaitis has it right—a professional did the job and even if you were to find him, you might not be able to learn who hired him because he might not know."
The Prince nodded as Galen reminded him of his greater responsibilities. "How bad are things out there?"
Galen shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not a political advisor, but people are angry. You and I both know why you told your sister to use her best judgment about your mother's lying in state and the funeral, but it doesn't play well to the masses. To them there is only one reason that you did not attend the funeral and that your brothers and sisters did—they think you didn't love your mother."
"But that's not true."
"Again, you and I know that, but they don't." Galen opened his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "You need to do things. You need to have memorial coins struck and memorial bills printed. You need to give money to charities your mother supported and you need to endow some scholarship funds in her name."
"But those are gestures, they mean nothing."
"You might see it that way, but the people do not. Sure, you're a war hero, but your most daring exploit involved a mission to save the heir to the throne of a sworn enemy. Then you invited Phelan to Arc-Royal, a man they see as a traitor to the Inner Sphere. Then this same traitor had the gall to arrive here with a captured Inner Sphere prince in bondage, and you did nothing. Finally you have allowed a Clan Cluster free access to Commonwealth space. None of this goes over well with the people you rule." Galen reflected for a moment, then nodded. "I tell you what, if I were you, I'd keep your mother's face on the money and delay putting your face on it for a year or so."
Victor was surprised at his own reaction to that suggestion beca
use he'd never have thought having his face on money—a sign of his accession to the throne—would mean so much to him. Part of him realized that he had always subconsciously looked forward to it as an affirmation of his right to rule, but another part of him saw the wisdom of Galen's words.
"For someone who disavows any political acumen, Galen, you have some skill in that area." Victor made a note on a slip of paper. "Consider those suggestions implemented. Have you others?"
"One. Give some interviews."
"I don't have time to talk to reporters and media folk."
"You don't have time not to. People already see you as your father in miniature. They're afraid you're going to start a war, and in many ways, they think your father didn't do enough to stop the Clans. Yes, I know that's stupid, but they don't. All they see is the former Federated Suns untouched by the war, while their worlds are dotted with refugee camps."
Galen chuckled. "Look, I know you're not comfortable with the media, but why not talk to Katherine about it? She knows how to handle them and she can probably give you some pointers."
The Prince frowned, then nodded. "All right, I'm willing to do that, but I want something from you in return."
"What?"
Victor pointed at the black screen. "I still want the people who killed my mother. That means the assassin and whoever hired him. If I accept that you're right and that I've been obsessing about this, I also accept that I'm too close to it. What am I doing wrong?"
"I don't know. I know the intelligence folks have put together a psych profile of the assassin, but they're trying to follow whatever trail he might have left. They're as much interested in learning why and how he got through their security as they are in catching him. And even catching him won't tell you who hired him."
"You're saying I have two problems, right?"
"Hard lock and fire." Galen's hands again rested on his hips, but the set of his shoulders was no longer belligerent. "The assassin was a professional and had to be working for money because no political groups have claimed responsibility for the assassination. Tracking him down is likely to be frustrating and full of dead-ends, but at least we know what could bring him out of hiding."
"Money."
"Yes, that and an assignment worthy of the man who killed the Archon of the Federated Commonwealth. Taking the time and the care he did to get to your mother means that he thinks of himself as a virtuoso, whether he's aware of it or not. I doubt he would be willing to risk himself on a job that was less a test of his skills than your mother was."
Victor nodded slowly. "The Intelligence Secretariat has said that assassins of that caliber have been known to base themselves on Solaris. With the traffic there and the relatively open nature of the world, getting in and out and laundering money is easy. We could put the word out on Solaris." Victor smiled slowly. "In fact, I think I know just the person to do the job."
"Good, then maybe you'll get the assassin." Galen frowned. "But that still leaves his patron."
"That won't be easy. From what you say, most people think I'm the person who had the most to gain from her death."
Galen nodded. "True enough, but you have an advantage because you know you didn't do it. Make a list of who else benefits besides you, then weed them out by process of elimination."
"What do I do when I get down to the finalists?"
Galen Cox shook his head. "That question is precisely why uneasy rests the head that wears the crown."
28
Cue Ball, Moon orbiting Yeguas III
Federated Commonwealth
30 July 3055
The stark contrast between the chalky white dust of the canyon and the black vault overhead struck Nelson Geist as the difference between life and death itself. The Red Corsair's JumpShip had entered the Yeguas system at a pirate point close to the third planet. Waiting for them at the system's apex jump point was the Thirty-first Wolf Solahma.
The Wolves immediately issued a combat challenge to the raiders, which the Red Corsair just as promptly accepted. She offered to meet them on Cue Ball, but told them that if they didn't make it there within six days, their window to stop her was closed, because she was leaving then.
The jump point where the Wolves had been waiting was seven and a half days out at a normal one gravity burn. The Wolves pushed their acceleration to two gravities, thereby shaving two days off the transit time. Nelson was with the Red Corsair when she got the report, and he thought she would be displeased because it meant she would finally have to face the Wolves.
"Hardly, Nelson," she purred. "I look forward to fighting the Wolves. The Clans send scum to fight bandits, and I will bloody their scum for them."
The Red Corsair grounded her BattleMechs on Cue Ball and took advantage of the waiting time to give her troops a chance to become accustomed to the reduced gravity. With far less mass than a normal world, Cue Ball had .47 standard gravities. BattleMechs could move faster and jump further, but their ability to stop and turn was also affected. In the exercises she conducted, the Red Corsair had Nelson backseating her and she turned fire control over to him while she mastered the delicacies of movement on the airless moon.
Leaving her bandits on the lunar surface, the Red Corsair had sent her DropShips in at Yeguas. Radioing ahead, she told the world's government that she would not feel the need to attack if they would send shuttles out with "tribute." What she asked for was fairly conservative and consisted mostly of food and inexpensive baubles. The government decided in very short order that paying the tribute would do fine, probably believing they would get it back after the Wolves trashed the bandits.
Waiting in the high gunnery seat of the BattleMaster, Nelson watched on his auxiliary monitor as two Wolf Clan DropShips grounded and began to disgorge BattleMechs. "It looks like three Trinaries of fifteen 'Mechs each and a command Star. That's fifty to our seventy-five. Their commander must be insane."
The Red Corsair shook her head. "Not at all. He holds us in contempt. He will pay." She started her Battle-Master walking down to the mouth of the canyon that opened into the vast crater where the Wolves had deployed. According to her plan, the other bandits should be all around them, making similar approaches through the cracks in the crater's walls.
The image on Nelson's auxiliary screen showed the Wolves deploying in attack groups and moving forward in a haphazard way. "I don't understand. . . . They should be good troops." A light laugh from the Red Corsair made him realize suddenly why the Wolves looked and moved so oddly. "Coming in at two gees' acceleration, compensating for the reduced gravity is even more difficult here. The contrast is even greater because of the fatigue from coming in that fast."
"Very good, Nelson." The Red Corsair hit a button on her console and a holographic display with a gold crosshairs in the middle materialized in front of him. "Fire control is yours."
"Do my friends go free if I kill Wolves?"
"No, but neither do they die if we do." Her voice sank to a throaty whisper as she worked the BattleMaster around a corner. "You have no love for the Clans and I have no love for the Wolves. We are allies in this fight."
Nelson hesitated an instant, then nodded. "Fire control accepted."
"Get ready." She stepped the BattleMaster into the mouth of the canyon and raised both arms above the 'Mech's head. Opening a broadbeam radio channel, she offered the Wolves a challenge of her own. "Welcome, you freebirth whelps of a mangy bitch cur. It is time to show you why you are fit for nothing but bandit bait."
Her words had an immediate effect on the Clanners, and Nelson knew that the Wolves had lost the battle even before the first shot was fired. Two light 'Mechs thrust forward, one arcing into the dark sky on twin jump jets. The 'Mech looked like a Stinger, hardly a threat. The other one, which the onboard computer identified as a Hermes, struck him as more dangerous, so he covered it with the BattleMaster's targeting crosshairs.
It was in trouble even before he shot at it. The pilot, unused to the light gravity, had pushed the 'M
ech to full throttle. The 'Mech's speed built faster than normal, taking it from a steady, pumping gait to long, leaping strides that dangerously unbalanced the BattleMech. The Hermes pilot lost control of the war machine as it came down in a small field of boulders.
Nelson had managed to keep tracking it and began to punch the BattleMaster's firing studs without remorse. The first PPC bolt clawed its way through the Hermes' right chest, taking with it all the structural supports in that side of the 'Mech's torso. The second PPC bolt speared the 'Mech's right arm. The Hermes shed armor on the limb like dead skin, then the arm itself withered away to white fire and black smoke.
The PPC bolts actually contained enough energy to slow the Hermes and straighten it up for a second. They started it twisting back around to the right, then its legs ran out from under it. The 'Mech flew ahead, legs first and bent at the knees, with its left hand clawing at the stars. A boulder sheared its shins off. The torso hit hard, then bounded up above the planet's surface, trailing the dust that the hole in its chest had scooped out. It hit again and rolled into a house-sized rock, then bounced off and lay dented and dead, staring at the stars.
As the Stinger started to come down, Nelson shifted his aim up to where it intersected with the 'Mech's gentle trajectory. If the pilot had been smart, he would have hit his jets again and changed course, but he did not. Nelson figured that the pilot, unnerved by how far he had actually flown in one jump, wanted nothing better than to be grounded again. We aim to please.
One PPC bolt missed high, but the other hit the Stinger in the right knee. The azure lightning stabbed straight through the joint, exploding armor and amputating the lower half of the leg. The lesser portion of the limb started to spin backward while the Stinger began a slow, rolling somersault.
Nelson next hit the Stinger with the BattleMaster's center-mounted large pulse laser. The green energy darts peppered the Stinger's torso and actually stopped the forward roll. The laser fire blasted away all the armor over the 'Mech's heart and melted away some internal supports, but it failed to put the 'Mech out of commission.
Natural Selection Page 21