Ghost War

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Other jackals were bolder and more direct. Some were from noble families whose patriarchs had ceded power to The Republic, and the children resented their reduction in status. To be kind to some, they saw the ebbing of The Republic’s influence as a call to again shoulder the responsibility their families had long borne. Others saw The Republic as an aberration that extorted their rightful power from them, and they meant to take it back. They brought local militia troops under their direct control and declared martial law. By hinting at enemies without and within, they were able to rally majorities behind them.

  This spawned countermovements, of course, of self-described Republicans, or others harkening back to ethnic and nationalistic ties. Someone of Kurita descent on a majority Davion-populated world could easily gather Combine families to them. By defining themselves as Combine loyalists they could also appeal to Tormark for support, or even go to forces inside the Draconis Combine itself. That wasn’t happening with Combine loyalists alone. All of the nations had their claimants.

  We did get reports of open combat, but in some ways I found those reassuring. They were little skirmishes that defined boundaries. They clearly were the precursors of other fights to come, but they bled off pressure and let things quiet down for a bit, even though the desire for revenge would grow and spawn new rounds of combat.

  I knew it was time for me to walk away from analysis when I was worrying more about places that only reported peace than places where shots had been fired. Those peaceful worlds defied the madness breaking out around them. While I could have hoped that sanity prevailed somewhere in the Inner Sphere, I saw darker forces at work. Could it be that those worlds have been completely pacified by the lions? If our only window into them was through news reports flowing out, and those reports only told of sweetness and light, how would we know? The lions could be hiding in plain sight, waiting until we had mauled ourselves, before emerging from their peaceful dens.

  Worst of all was the fact that even the best sorting, sifting and analysis could not change the fact that all the data was old. The Republic could not function with ancient news. If a reply to a request for help took two months to come back, it was far too long, and the crisis that spawned the request could have easily consumed the world from which it originated during the lag.

  And, of course, tomorrow could bring in missing data from a world that would force reevaluation of everything, plunking us back at square one. We’d start over, but always had to be mindful of the fact that we remained in the dark about most of The Republic and even larger chunks of the Inner Sphere beyond our borders. Once I was operating in that mode, that had me swapping black for white on a regular basis, I’d find something else to do for a while. Running down to White Sands and working more with Ghost had a lot of appeal. Watching things blow up is cathartic. I could easily imagine that all the enemy ’Mechs were lions and pride-busting left me exhausted and smiling. My scores shot up significantly when one of the techs dressed the enemy ’Mechs in tawny and brown, with little lion-rampant devices on their chests.

  Janella and I were able to slip away to a beach on the Baja coast for two days. It was supposed to be three, but we returned early, recharged and sunburned, to dive back in. I also spent an afternoon with Victor, helping him tend to the roses growing in the small courtyard off his lodgings. This turned out to be fortunate because Andrea asked if she could see the roses and I got to give her a brief tour. Victor, as gracious as ever, praised my help with the flowers, which confused Andrea and did little to quell suspicions.

  Toward the end of that month the pressure just kept building. With each and every report, the clouds gathering on the horizon became thicker and darker. There was no denying that a nasty storm was coming and a lot of lightning would be cast around.

  “ ‘The fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword.” ’ Victor’s voice sank to a cold tone. “There is a theory that suggests mankind cannot resist war because we forget pain so easily. It’s a survival trait. What woman who endured hours of labor would agree to bear another child if she could remember every moment of pain? What person would risk being trampled or stuck through with horns to bring down a buffalo if he’d survived that sort of wounding before?”

  I waved bandaged fingers. “What gardener would tend roses?”

  Victor smiled at my jest, but from the other end of the table, Nessa gestured at him with her fork. “That theory dismisses the fact that we’re thinking creatures. We can weigh the risks of pain and injury against gain. We can also empathize with others and feel their pain. This is the basis of altruism and even heroic sacrifice in emergencies and war.”

  The old man nodded. “There is no denying that, Nessa, but two factors in that serve to reinforce the theory. The first is that because we forget pain, it is never weighed heavily enough when being slotted into that risk/gain equation. This is especially true when it might be someone else’s pain. I would go so far as to say that those who empathize with the injuries of others disregard risk/gain equations, and almost fly in the face of overwhelming odds precisely because they believe that behavior is required of them.”

  Nessa nodded, lowering her fork to spear some lettuce. “We could argue some of that, but I’d end up agreeing. What was your second point?”

  “I would challenge your assertion that we are really thinking creatures.”

  That brought my head up. “Okay, my not using gloves to help with the roses is probably not going to work in my favor when I defend mankind’s sapience, but all of us here, at this table, in this place, we’re thinking in high gear.”

  “Your hands aside, Mason, you are slipping past my point. Yes, those of us gathered here are thinking, and thinking hard and long about events, but we have the luxury of being able to do that. We also have the basis of experience that allows us to do that. While we can hope we are wise, most of mankind is barely sentient. When you look at Maslow’s Hierarchy of Human Needs, it is concerned mostly with food, shelter and reproduction. These are all the biological urges and while some abstraction might occur—like having to work a job to secure food and shelter—they really don’t rise much above the levels of creatures who are just out satisfying those basic, biological needs.”

  Janella arched an eyebrow. “You’re not trying to say that humans are cattle, are you, my lord?”

  “Not at all. Sheep is a preferable comparison because it allows for the existence of shepherds and wolves.” Resting his elbows on the table, Victor pressed his hands together, fingertip to fingertip. I could see the delight dancing in his gray eyes, just like the reflected light from the candles on the table. “When you think about it, experience almost divides humanity along species lines. Just the four of us here at the table, we have traveled to how many worlds. Hundreds? Thousands? We’ve traveled further in light-years over a single year than some people will travel in kilometers in their entire lives. Some worlds are fabled places to people, and I’ve shed blood on those worlds. We have, by dint of our experience, a perspective on events that far too few people possess.”

  Nessa nodded. “This is why we are the shepherds.”

  Her grandfather frowned. “But why are we not the wolves? Those out there who will take advantage of the chaos have the same experience we do. Why aren’t they making the same decisions we are? Why would they risk war with each other while we have a threat hovering out there?”

  “Perhaps they have made the same decision.” Janella toyed with the stem of her wineglass. “Those we call wolves probably see themselves as shepherds. They define their flock as different than we do, and they are gathering their forces to protect their constituency. Perhaps they see their rivals as the wolves behind the grid’s collapse. They view our inaction and warnings of a foe unseen as our folly, and they move to secure things for their people.”

  “A very good point, my lady.” Victor gave her a half-smile. “Several, in fact, which just makes everything that much more complicated.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t beli
eve someone like Jacob Bannson would ever think of himself as a shepherd. He sees himself as a wolf, as the Big, Bad Wolf, and he’s out for sheep and piggies and any shepherds that get in his way.”

  My comment came out a little more vehemently than I might have liked, and the surprise on Victor’s face made this quite apparent. “It would seem, Mason, you have taken a specific dislike to Mr. Bannson.”

  “Yes, my lord.” I raised my napkin to my lips and wiped my mouth. “The more I read, well, I can understand the motivations of the jackals out there—wolves in the current analogy. Take Katana Tormark, for example. She’s steeped in the Combine’s warrior tradition, and her sense of tradition is urging her to do what she’s doing.”

  “To the best of your knowledge, Mason.” Nessa jabbed a hunk of romaine with her fork. “We don’t truly know what she is thinking or dreaming.”

  “Sure, that’s true, and I might not be looking deeply enough in her case, but with Bannson, there’s no looking deep. He’s as shallow as a pie plate to my mind. Greed is driving him, pure and simple. He likes money, he wants more, and he also wants to punish The Republic for not praising what a great human being he is.”

  Janella kept her voice soft. “I doubt making him a Knight would convert him to the cause.”

  “No, it wouldn’t, not at all, because he’d want to be a Paladin, and then the Exarch. Bannson wants to be at the top of the food chain, not because that’s the top, but because he can then start nibbling away at the links below him.” I frowned. “Look, I can understand greed, but he’s so open about it. If greed is what’s motivating Tormark, or Aaron Sandoval or anyone else, fine, but at least they dress it up in tradition.”

  Nessa smiled. “Bannson would say he’s a traditionalist, too. He’s not out for greed, but for prosperity. You even said, Mason, that plenty of folks see him as a champion for the little guy, and someone who wants them to succeed. Perhaps you’ve misread him.”

  I shook my head. “Okay, score one for the Devil’s advocate, but we can be realistic about this, too. Bannson is only out for himself and while I think it’s great that those who run in his pack will get eaten up by him, I fear for all the little-guy sheep they’ll tear apart while on their rampage.”

  Victor pushed his salad plate away from the edge of the table. “I don’t disagree with your fears, Mason, but I wonder what we can do about it. There are too few shepherds.”

  “But we can make more shepherds. Looking over the reports, there are folks out there who really are pleading for peace and reason. We have to use our resources to help promote them and their ideas. If we protect the peacemakers, if we hold them up as examples, we will get others to think along those lines. If people equate peace with stability, we kill two birds with one stone.”

  “A laudable plan, but the wolves will still prey upon them.”

  “Yes, my lord, which means we need to add one more creature to the menagerie of wolves and sheep: the wolfhound. While the shepherd may be stuck waiting and watching for whoever took the grid down, we have to stop the wolves somehow.”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed. “Assassination?”

  “Tyrannicide? That would be one way.” I glanced at Nessa. “It comes back to where we started here: making sure that pain gets properly factored into any risk/gain analysis. Wolfhounds would have to start working on the weakest individuals in the wolf packs. Subordinates whose activities cross the line would have to be punished swiftly. The wolves will have to see that they’re not going to win in a walk. Not only will it make them think twice, but in culling their packs of the weak and defective, it will make them more efficient and tougher.”

  Janella frowned. “And that would be good exactly how?”

  “When whoever took the grid down makes their next move, the wolves will have the strength to resist.”

  Nessa pursed her lips. “And if that blow never falls?”

  “Then really healthy and efficient wolf packs will tear each other apart.”

  “An interesting theory, Mason.” Victor gave me a smile. “But, if there are too few shepherds, I fear wolfhounds are in even shorter supply.”

  Victor’s majordomo entered the dining room and whispered in his lord’s ear. Victor nodded, considered for a moment, then looked around the table. “Thank you, Peb-worth. I think we are ready for dessert and brandy.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  The old man looked at me and I saw a gleam in his eyes. “He gave me a message. It’s for you, Mason. It came from Basalt.”

  I blinked. “Basalt? I don’t know anyone there.”

  “No, I suppose you don’t.” His smile grew sly. “It seems Sam Donelly does, however. It appears your Mr. Handy wants to offer you a job.”

  19

  The greatest obstacle to discovery is not ignorance—it is the illusion of knowledge.

  —Daniel J. Boorstin

  Knights’ Hall

  North America, Terra

  Prefecture X, Republic of the Sphere

  8 January 3133

  The message was necessarily vague, but rather expressive.

  Sam,

  Sorry to hear about your in-law trouble with Helen. I thought things would turn out differently there, but nightfall changed plans. I am pleased you are without entanglements. I am interested in resuming our partnership, with a significantly higher level of participation for you. Contact me as soon as possible. I have made good your loss and advanced passage.

  Handy

  Basalt 12 December 3132

  Janella looked up from reading the text. “You already know he’s untrustworthy. It has to be a trap.”

  “Oh, without a doubt, if he can sell me out as he did on Helen, he will. Then again, this message did come with a deposit of the five thousand stones he owed me and enough for passage from Epsilon Indi to Basalt. He must have sent it by courier to any number of worlds, and on Epsilon Indi our folks picked it up and routed it here by Black Box.”

  Janella nodded. “That does not make it any less a trap.”

  “True, but at least he has no suspicions about who I am. He thinks I’m really on Indi.”

  Black Box communications technology was old stuff, and much less efficient than the HPGs. They couldn’t transmit much more than the message I’d gotten, but they had proved useful for Hanse Davion in circumventing a ComStar Interdiction last century. The Republic used the technology as a backup for Ghost Knight communications—slower being better than nothing—and the people maintaining Sam’s cover on Epsilon Indi used it to get the message to where it belonged.

  I furrowed my brows. “What’s important here is this: we left Helen on the twenty-third of November. We can assume he left roughly the same time. He sent that message from Basalt only twenty-one days after leaving Helen. Three weeks of transit works, if he’s moving fast or lucky in catching rides. The money he’s sent for me to get there from Indi will get me there fast, so someone backing him has deep pockets.”

  She gave me a knowing look. “More people than Jacob Bannson have deep pockets, Mason.”

  “True. We’re also looking at an organization here. It’s a safe bet that news of a small-time felon from Acamar being released from Republic custody on Epsilon Indi was not a hot-flash news item on Basalt. Handy had someone seeking information on me. I’d go so far as to suggest that he was looking for data on a variety of people he could use on Basalt, and I was just one of them. If he’s hiring talent that is ’Mech-capable, fairly serious stuff is going down.”

  “I’m still not seeing Bannson’s hand in this, nor the hand of anyone else, for that matter.”

  “Okay, here’s the trick: Handy’s message suggests that your arrival—his ‘nightfall’—prompted the change of plans. If he were going to fade because you’d arrived, he’d have done so when you arrived. He waited a week. I think he sent a message to his off-world boss asking for advice and it took that long to get the message back.”

  She shook her head, then got up from the conference room couc
h and crossed to the refreshment station to get herself a bottle of water. She tossed me one, too. “Or his local boss took a while to decide what to do.”

  “And, in the meantime, Handy gets an offer to head to Basalt?” I opened the bottle and drank, then put it down and clapped my hands. “Wait, that’s it! What if Handy has two bosses? What if local talent hires him, but he’s taking orders from others who want to pit little jackals against each other?”

  Janella sat back down and looked at me with disgust. “Mason, if you have to start your statement with ‘what if,’ it’s a fantasy, not a theory. You’re arguing from facts not in evidence. All we know is that your pal wants to know if you want a job. We can presume he wants you to engage in illegal activity and that your ability to pilot a ’Mech is important in this enterprise. Anything beyond that is purely speculative and we don’t have even circumstantial evidence to support it. We don’t even have a good idea of why Basalt is the target here.”

  Janella was absolutely right about that. She grew up on Fletcher, which was a short jump from her home, but she’d never been there. The same could be said for the majority of the population of the Inner Sphere. Though the world was located in what had once been a slender finger of the Federated Suns, with both the Capellan Confederation and Draconis Combine in easy striking range of it, Basalt endured nothing more serious than the occasional raid down through its history. While the population was racially diverse, it had been politically stable for centuries.

  The Germayne family had ruled it since the early days of the Federated Suns and the world had prospered. The people had been fiercely loyal to House Davion, and staunch allies of the Draconis March’s Sandoval family. Basalt stood ready to act as a bulwark against advances by the Combine, but they really were never called upon for more than sending troops, which they did enthusiastically.