The buzzing in her ears seemed to drop slightly with each painful breath. Her mouth ached and the cool air on the exposed nerve of her tooth stabbed at her like a hot knife. She felt a hand grab her, lift her to a semi-standing position. Warm blood trickled down her face and she realized it was all over. Drawing a deep breath she tasted her blood and smelled the tang of sweat still in the air. She stood before Khan Perigard, beaten and lost, yet forever unyielding. I am innocent. This changes nothing.
"This Trial of Refusal is over," Zalman said from inside the jaws of the Steel Viper mask. In Dawn's dazed state, he seemed to loom before her, more apparition than human. "You are judged guilty in the eyes of this Council, Dawn. I now pass sentence for all to hear.
"You are stripped of rank and caste from this day forward and banished from the ranks of Clan Steel Viper. Your name is not to be spoken, and your genetic material will be purged from the gene pool. No member of this Clan is to speak with you or acknowledge that you were ever spawned. I could offer you death, but that would be too quick an end. This banishment will forever remind you of those warriors who died by your hand. You will be taken by one of our merchant caste vessels to the nearest system from our territories and your name will never again be uttered by any member of this Clan. From this day forward you no longer exist in either our minds or our memory."
The Bloodnamed of the Steel Vipers rose to their feet and spoke in unison as Dawn scanned the near darkness. "Seyla," each one affirmed, one by one turning his or her face and body away from her. The sign of banishment. The eyes of the Bloodnamed would no longer acknowledge her. Only Star Colonel Ivan Sinclair did not immediately avert his eyes. Then, he too, slowly turned and would no longer see her.
Loremaster Stoklas stepped over to the codex reader and withdrew the circlet that stood for Dawn's Life as a Steel Viper warrior. He dropped it to the floor, pulled out his laser pistol, and shot the codex with a fiery bolt of red laser light. Dawn stared, too stunned and weak from the fight to respond. Her life as a Steel Viper was over. They had purged her as if she had never existed.
She fought to maintain her balance but a wave of dizziness overcame her. Dawn collapsed in pain.
Headquarters, Sixth Crucis Lancers RCT
Aux-Huards Plain
Valexa
Capellan March, Federated Commonwealth
"It's something we've got to take care of ourselves, Garth," Lieutenant-General Mel Aleixandre said. "You've seen the intelligence reports. The MHO wants to put the blame on the Knights of the Inner Sphere simply because the raider 'Mechs were painted in their colors, but that's only because they want to wrap this whole thing up nice and tidy. Somebody just wants to file the matter away, get it off his desk, and out of sight because our intelligence people can barely keep their heads above water right now. They don't need something new sending them off on another merry chase." The General shook his head sadly. "Those very same reports also estimate only a twenty-five percent chance that those 'Mechs actually were Knights of the Inner Sphere."
Garth Hawkes nearly exploded. "Don't they want to do something about it? Don't they want to make whoever was responsible pay damn good and hard for killing our own people?"
"The intel boys have their hands full, Garth. They're scrambling trying to keep up with whatever little tricks Sun-Tzu has the Maskirovka and the Death Commandos playing in the Sarna March and the Tikonov region. They're also trying to keep tabs on the Skye region in case anyone else decides to try more funny business there. Not to mention—"
"You mean raiders from who knows where can just drop onto a Davion world, attack a Davion unit, and nothing will be done about it?" Hawkes couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"We're talking about politics here, Garth. Things are never black and white. Think about it—Joshua Maris is on New Avalon under the care of Victor Davion's top physicians. I'm not sure how the MHO or anyone else could believe that Thomas Marik would raid the FedCom with the life of his heir in their hands. Maybe that's why there haven't been any formal concessions called for from the Free Worlds League. The press and politicians call it a Marik attack, but Prince Victor presents a calm, statesmanlike front. Things aren't always what they seem, Garth. And they're not always simple."
The General crumpled up the sheaf of paper he'd been holding. "No, Garth. If we want justice we're going to have find a way on our own."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"The official reports put the blame on the Knights, but you and I don't believe they were involved at all. It's just not Thomas Marik's style. He hasn't come this far by pulling off such hare-brained stunts. All right, so the MHO doesn't have the manpower to take this on right now. They're too busy. Or maybe they just don't take it seriously enough. But what if we sent one of our own to do some looking around? And if that person could find something, then we could come back and get some official action."
Aleixandre stared up at Hawkes for a moment before speaking again. "I've been thinking about this a lot, Garth. Not one of the House leaders has anything to gain by discrediting the Knights of the Inner Sphere. In the old days I might have suspected ComStar, but Focht and the Primus are totally focused on the Clan threat. No, I think it was someone from outside the inner circle, maybe somebody who wants in so bad that he or she will try anything to make trouble.
"What I propose is to send somebody undercover to Galatea, Outreach, Solaris VII—wherever mercenaries are hired. I'd wager that whoever was behind the raid got his troops from one of those places. Our man will go there looking for work, keep his eyes and ears open, and try to turn up some real leads."
Hawkes put both hands on the desk and leaned toward the General. "I'm the only person for this mission, General. Those were my men and women who died. I'm the only one you can count on to go the distance, the only one who wouldn't care about the risks. My comrades are gone, but at least I could see them avenged. Maybe that would make up for the fact that I wasn't out there with them when the end came."
"You'll be on your own, Garth," the General cautioned. "I won't be able to toss you any support unless you can come up with some real, hard evidence. Then I'm going to need the Field Marshal to grant me authorization for a raid. We can cashier you for not being with your unit when it was attacked. For all intents and purposes, you will be alone. I can maintain your position in the unit on paper—for a while, at least."
Hawkes nodded. "I understand sir."
"Good. You leave in the morning." Aleixandre reached out and shook Hawkes's hand firmly. "Good luck, my boy. Your father would be proud of you."
Hawkes nodded, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he might never see General Mel Aleixandre again.
6
Winter Palace, Dormuth
Marik
Marik Commonwealth, Free Worlds League
16 April 3057
Standing in the elegant drawing room of the sprawling Winter Palace in the heart of Dormuth, Duncan Kalma suddenly felt the full import of where he was and who he was going to meet. Captain-General Thomas Marik. The man who had done what no one else ever had—create a semblance of unity in the Free Worlds League. For that he had won the respect of his people, including even men like Duncan, who had abandoned his homeland for a life of allegiance to no man.
Duncan looked around with real curiosity at the richly appointed room, with its gleaming dark walnut wainscoting and tiers of real hardcopy books. Lighting the huge chamber was a chandelier of several dozen candles as well as tapers flickering in ornate wall mounts all around the room. At the far end a roaring fire added its warm glow. Antiques were everywhere—Terran tables and chairs, ancient maps, real oil paintings, richly colored Andurien carpets and brilliant Shasta tapestries, curios in the shape of beasts no longer seen on any world, and more. Thomas was famous for his fascination and reverence for the past.
It was ironic, Duncan thought, that this man had risen to such heights, not only in the Free Worlds League, but even beyond, his prestige and power acknowledged a
cross the Inner Sphere. It was not always so. As a Precentor of Com-Star, the quasi-religious order that once controlled all interstellar communications, his life must have been rather secluded. Then had come the bombing attack that took the life of his father, Captain-General Janos Marik. Thomas, too, was assumed dead when his body was not recovered after the explosion.
Eighteen months later he stunned Parliament by suddenly reappearing, healed and strong, claiming his right to the throne. He had been severely burned in the explosion, but the flames that had ruined his face seemed to have fired something powerful within his soul. Though untutored in either war or politics, Thomas Marik had assumed the mantle of the Captain-Generalcy, a precarious duty even in the best of times. Not only had he managed to hold his often turbulent realm together, but under his rule the Free Worlds League had prospered while the rest of the Inner Sphere only barely survived the Clan invasion.
Thomas would surely be remembered as one of the great Mariks, his popularity among the people even higher than what old Janos had enjoyed at the peak of his career.
Hearing the sound of footsteps Duncan turned to see the lanky form of Captain-General Thomas Marik enter the room. He was flanked on one side by an equally tall man with long, flowing white hair and on the other by the Knight who had visited the Kalma estate several days before. Harrison Kalma bowed. Duncan quickly mimicked his father's actions, trying to remember any shred of the court protocol he'd learned as a child. He'd never cared much for such things, never been good at them, and now he felt stiff and awkward.
"Such formality from an old friend is not expected," Marik said, placing his hand on Harrison Kalma's shoulder and prompting him to rise.
"It's good to see you again, Thomas," his father said. "I must admit it was a surprise hearing that you were back on Marik."
Thomas smiled, but he looked weary. "A matter of great importance has arisen and I wanted to be free of the many demands on Atreus in order to deal with it." He turned to face Duncan, who quickly bowed again.
"And you must be Duncan. I've heard a great deal about you from General Milik," he said. "You certainly don't look like the rogue he's made you out to be."
Duncan smiled slightly, not sure what else to do. "It is an honor to meet you, sire," he returned firmly.
"I'm delighted you could come. Your special acquaintance with areas of the Periphery may be helpful this evening." Marik turned to the white-haired man. "Director Cherenkov, I believe you know everyone here except General Kalma's son."
Duncan stepped forward quickly and offered his hand while the Captain-General introduced him to Wilson Cherenkov, Director of SAFE, the League's intelligence arm. He also nodded to Rod Trane.
"Of course I thank you all for coming," Marik was saying, "but I must caution you—this meeting never took place."
All nodded their understanding, but Duncan noticed his father and Cherenkov staring suspiciously at each other like the longtime rivals they were. As the head of SAFE, Cherenkov had always resented Harrison Kalma's influence as Director of Military Intelligence of the LCCC.
"Let us sit," the Captain-General said, gesturing to a long table surrounded by high-backed chairs near the fireplace. He took a seat at the head, with his back to the roaring fire. Rod Trane and Duncan sat down to one side of him while General Kalma and Cherenkov took seats on the other. The flickering of the candles lit Marik's face strangely, but also softened the scarred ruin of his visage.
No one spoke as Director Cherenkov produced a small disk-like device, then held it out over the table as he activated it with a flick of his thumb. A light flashed green several times, and then he put the device away. "This room is clean, sire."
"Excellent," Thomas said, laying his hands palm down on the table top and leaning forward as he let his gaze travel around the group. "Gentlemen, I have brought you here to discuss a problem I would like to handle personally rather than delegating to advisors or to the military. As you have all heard by now, some mysterious raiders have made at least three separate strikes against the other Houses of the Inner Sphere, and these raiders came impersonating my Knights. This cannot continue without irreparable damage to me personally and to the Free Worlds League politically, and that is why I intend to find out who is behind it and to stop them before more harm is done."
Duncan squirmed in his chair. This was obviously a high-level meeting, and he did not feel at all comfortable participating in such a discussion.
Harrison Kalma spoke first. "I agree with you about the seriousness of the situation, Thomas. Obviously, it couldn't have been the Knights because of the nature and timing of the raids. But others won't be so quick to realize that. What kind of reaction have you gotten outside Marik space?"
"All the other House leaders have filed formal protests and made the usual political gestures," Marik said. "They're doing exactly what I would do in their place, pointing an accusing finger and making veiled threats while their intelligence agencies scramble to learn whether or not my Knights really were involved."
"What has SAFE learned, Director Cherenkov?" Rod Trane asked, and Duncan noticed that his speech had become more clipped and enunciated, as though he had a special voice for speaking in the presence of his liege lord. "Have you come up with any intelligence on the identity of these mysterious raiders?"
The man next to Kalma shifted slightly as he leaned down to pull several thick stacks of paper from his briefcase on the floor. Watching him, Duncan remembered what he'd heard about Wilson Cherenkov. He and Thomas had been friends for many years, beginning when both were young acolytes of ComStar. The man was known for both his cunning and his total loyalty to the Captain-General.
Cherenkov took a pair of reading glasses from inside his jacket, and put them on as he spoke. "The strike on Shiro III did not yield any real clues except for one of the extensively damaged raider BattleMechs left behind after the strike on the Hussar headquarters. My men have crawled all over the 'Mech and were able to trace some of the repair parts to a shipment of refit kits stolen, apparently by pirates, in Liao space months ago."
Duncan spoke up for the first time. "What about the reactor core stamp? That should tell you who the 'Mech belonged to in the first place." The stamp was a specially coded optical-read imprint laser-etched into the interior of a fusion reactor. In essence, it was a serial number for the reactor and could conceivably be tracked by any number of databases, military and otherwise. Cherenkov shot Duncan a glance, then pulled out a sheaf from among his thick stack of papers.
"Yes, we thought of that," he said, laying the sheet before Trane and Duncan. "But the stamp tells us only that the 'Mech was originally part of the Armed Forces of the Federated Commonwealth and was sold for scrap to a mercenary unit, Lennox's Longriders. The Longriders tried to make it in the games on Solaris VII after falling on hard times about five years ago, but they weren't successful. The 'Mech surfaced again on Galatea and was officially listed as sold for parts a year ago. No trace of it since."
"Mercenaries then," Trane said, his voice dripping scorn. Duncan had heard that tone so many times in his own mercenary days that he resented it even now. Rod Trane obviously viewed mercs as second-rate, and beneath contempt.
Cherenkov shook his head. "Not necessarily, Captain. Whoever is behind these raids was simply smart enough to use a 'Mech like this rather than one that's more traceable."
"I think we can rule out the other Houses of the Inner Sphere, Captain-General," the elder Kalma put in.
Cherenkov sat back and removed his glasses. "Are you privy to some special information, General? Some special source I know nothing about?"
"No, Director Cherenkov. I've merely been analyzing the situation logically. Victor Davion has the biggest motivation to attack and discredit us, but he's got his hands full at home, let alone trying to trigger another war he can't hope to win."
"Perhaps he wasn't seeking to trigger a war but merely to discredit the Knights," Trane said.
"What could he hope to gain
from that?" Duncan couldn't help putting in. "So what if the Knights are discredited? It doesn't reflect on the Free Worlds League as a whole, just on them as a unit."
"Not true," Thomas Marik said. "Ruining the reputation of the Knights hurts them, the League, and the rest of the Inner Sphere more than you can imagine, my boy. But perhaps I don't really know how the common man views my Knights. What would you say, Duncan?"
Duncan was sorry he'd opened his mouth, and looked quickly at his father, who was nodding for him to speak. Fine, he thought. I'm as good as any to be the mouthpiece of the common man. "I'd say many people view them as a kind of personal toy for you, sire. Yes, the Knights are good MechWarriors, but they also get the best equipment and the best training. I suppose some may also be wondering whether they might be the start of a private army, but I always figured you would probably turn them into an elite unit like the Death Commandos or the Combine's ISF."
Marik shook his head. "The reality is that the Knights of the Inner Sphere have very little to do with the military per se."
"I don't understand, sire."
"You've studied history, Duncan. You've surely read about the Star League and how it came to be. No, it wasn't a purely peaceful era and some problems could only be solved militarily, but what truly held the Star League together was not force of arms but a social ideal. A rise in the moral fiber of every person in the Inner Sphere. People began to value honor and the common good, not just power and national self-interest. That is what I hope to do with the Knights of the Inner Sphere, plant the seed for the founding of a new Star League."
Duncan blinked, realizing he didn't understand any of this at all.
"I did not forge the Knights as my sword," the Captain-General went on. "No, I intend them as a model of how humankind can find our proper relation to technology. In the past humanity's greatest challenge was to find our proper relation to Nature. In our day the challenge is to create a new relation between man and technology. Technology is soulless. Weapons—the technology of war—exist only as a means of destruction.
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