Star lord

by Donald G. Phillips

  "And the team on Atreus?"

  "Oddly enough they report that Thomas Marik has not been seen in public for ten days or so. Official reports indicate that he is still on-world, but I suspect he's taken a trip or is sick."

  Amaris laughed. "He's gone into hiding. He knows that his precious Knights are in peril. The pressure is starting to build. Soon he'll be forced to make a stand politically to defend his precious Knights. In the end, they will be sacrificed on the altar I have created."

  "If I may, Star Lord, ask a question of you?"

  Amaris tilted his head slightly to one side, his balding head reflecting the dim yellowish light of the room. "Proceed."

  Varas chose his words carefully. "We could have struck at any one of the Inner Sphere governments. We could have discredited any one of the elite units belonging to any of the Houses. You chose the Knights of the Inner Sphere. If I may, what is your quarrel with House Marik and the Free Worlds League?"

  Amaris stared at him for a long moment, leaving Varas listening to each beat of his heart as he wondered whether he'd crossed the fine line. Slowly, Stefan Amaris leaned back in his chair and smiled at his officer. "Ah yes, the Knights," he said, and his smile grew even broader. "Thomas Marik's bold experiment. Most people see them as an elite military unit. Isn't that the case with you?"

  Varas nodded. It was true, they were simply another elite house unit.

  "Well, they are more than just a regiment of Mech Warriors. The Knights pose the greatest threat to my new vision of a Star League. Of all the regiments of BattleMechs poised throughout the Inner Sphere, they alone could stand in my way. Because of that, they must be disgraced and ruined, utterly destroyed."

  "How—"

  "I know what you're thinking, Varas. How could they pose a threat to a movement like mine? But remember, I am a scholar of history. Thomas Marik did not create these so-called knights as a military force so much as a force for change. He, like I, realizes that empires can be forged in one of two ways, and we have each chosen our own approach. His is a ground swell. He hopes to use the Knights to create a new social order.

  "I, on the other hand, have based my plans on leadership. It is leaders who create empires, who inspire movements. It is the leader who uses his power to generate confidence in his people, to keep them united around him and their common purpose so that they can rise to great deeds. I will strip the Inner Sphere of its tired old rulers. Then, in one fell swoop, I will forge an empire that can stand against and crush even the might of the Clans. The people will flock to me because I offer them a future, a vision, a dream. Tell them what they want to hear, and they will follow." His voice trailed off in a way Varas found almost chilling.

  "We must destroy the reputation of the Knights so that their movement dies and cannot stand against you, is that correct?"

  Amaris nodded. "With my understanding of the forces of history and your military prowess, we now stand on the brink of freeing mankind from the tyranny of the House Lords and the misery of centuries. At last humanity can look forward to freedom."

  Galaport

  Galatea

  Skye March, Federated Commonwealth

  Hermann Bovos stepped off the transport DropShip's landing ramp onto the tarmac of Galatea's primary spaceport and drew a long breath of the planet's air. It was heavier than the processed air he'd been breathing aboard the DropShip during the journey, damper, and more heady. It was hot too, Galatea warmed by its fiercely brilliant white sun. His nostrils stung slightly at the smell of rotting trash and garbage, his eyes watering slightly as he looked around.

  In its prime nearly half a century before, the city of Galaport had been the hub of activity on busy Galatea. What Bovos now saw framed against the purple evening sky were buildings left abandoned and decaying, with smoke rising from the city prime. Where the spaceport had once been bustling with the coming and going of dozens of mercenary units who traveled to Galatea to find and negotiate new contracts, now there were only tall weeds growing through cracks in the tarmac's edge.

  When Wolf's Dragoons took over the planet Outreach and the governments of the Inner Sphere shifted their mercenary-recruiting efforts to that world, Galatea nearly collapsed. The mercenary trade had been the basis of its economy, but the only units who came here now were those too inferior to compete on Outreach, or those who would not or could not go through legal channels to be hired. Where Galatea had once been the Mercenary's Star, it was now a virtual den of desperate men and women who didn't care whether or not they lived within the law.

  Following the other two DropShip passengers across the tarmac, Bovos had no idea what the decrepit spaceport might offer in the way of security. His only weapons were a knife and his father's laser pistol, but he had no wish to surrender either one. On the way out he passed what might once have been a security checkpoint, but it was unmanned and looked as if it had been that way for years. Hermann Bovos could have carried a light anti-'Mech rocket off that ship and with him into the city. And that meant the people he met here could also be armed with almost anything.

  The streets outside the spaceport were in no better repair. Many of the buildings were abandoned or boarded up. Those still functioning tended to be bars, pawn shops, and what appeared to be houses of prostitution, or worse.

  The few locals Bovos picked out were recognizable by their scrubbed and neat appearance. Mostly he saw every kind of mercenary, from the dangerous to the down and out Some stood leaning against the facades of various taverns and bars. Their uniforms were often tattered and soiled and much the worse for weeks or months of neglect. Some bore the patches and insignia of rank, though Bovos seriously doubted that any of these individuals had ever been officers during their legitimate military careers. The assortment, of patches were more often the insignia of long-forgotten and disbanded mercenary units. Most did not even have that much, only the darker places where the insignia had once been, now torn off and discarded.

  As Bovos passed one such group, one of the men stepped directly into his path. He looked like he hadn't shaved in at least a week and was rank with the odors of beer and sweat. Bovos stopped dead, immediately on guard.

  "Can I help you, stranger?" he said, half expecting the man to start a fight for no good reason.

  "You new around here?" the man asked.

  "Yes, friend. Is there a problem?"

  "I'm the guy you're looking for. Black Jack Barton. Best 'Mech jock in a hundred light years." Black Jack Barton extended his hand. Bovos shook it, not fully understanding.

  "I wasn't expecting to meet anyone here," he replied.

  "Sure you were," Barton said. "You're here to hire, ain'tcha?"

  Bovos ran his eyes quickly over the man's uniform, wrinkled and dirty in contrast to his own clean and well-creased green fatigues of the Second Oriente Hussars. "You've got me wrong, friend. I'm not here to hire, I'm looking for work myself."

  Barton's face went from hopeful to angry. He looked Bovos over from head to foot. "Good luck," he said as he turned to walk away. "You're gonna need it."

  Bovos watched him go, feeling a cool breeze over his face as the first splatter of a storm moved over the dank and dingy city. He adjusted his shoulder pack and stepped into the street, hoping the hotel across the way would offer him clean but cheap quarters. For the first time in many years, Hermann Bovos felt very much alone.

  8

  Galaport

  Galatea

  Skye March, Federated Commonwealth

  30 April 3057

  Hermann Bovos took a seat in the booth and checked his surroundings. The patrons of the Lazy Lighthorseman looked far from reputable, but seemed totally uninterested in him one way or the other. The woman he was to meet had insisted on a place where she wouldn't be recognized. Bovos figured the Lighthorseman was as good as any because it was a haunt of techs rather than MechWarriors.

  The waitress came over to his table, her jaws continually moving as she slowly chewed her gum without closing her mouth. He
r arms were bare, tattooed with the names of what Bovos guessed were former paramours—probably long gone or dead or forgotten while she toiled on in this broken-down bar in the proverbial armpit of the Inner Sphere.

  "Whatcha want, big guy?" she asked, letting some leg show through the high slit in her well-worn skirt.

  "Northwind Red," Hermann replied.

  "Big spender," she said, returning with his mug less than a minute later.

  "Run it on a tab," he told her as she laid the bill on the table.

  "No tabs, good-lookin'. We got enough problems with people don't want to pay for one drink, let alone a whole night's worth. Cash on the barrelhead."

  Bovos nodded and slapped down a C-bill.

  It had taken him a week to arrange a meeting with one of the dozen or so mercenary recruiters who operated on Galatea. Unlike Outreach, those who came here recruiting did not want their presence advertised. And usually with good reason. Most of their contracts were for jobs well beyond the law of any Inner Sphere government. Piracy, assassinations, subversion, kidnapping—every dark twist of mankind's tortured id could be bought and sold in the bars and streets of Galaport. His contact that night, Clare Lieb, was one of these.

  Bovos knew the odds were against her being the person who would lead him to the raiders who had struck Shiro III. But he was so new at all this, the life of an outlaw mercenary. He was going to have to learn the ins and outs if he was to survive and find out what he'd come to learn.

  The woman entering the bar wore a long hooded cloak against the nightly rains common on Galatea at this time of the year. As she pushed back the hood, Bovos saw that she was in her early fifties, worn and weathered, tanned from years in the fiery climate of Galatea. Her hair was a shocking white, worn short. She also wore thick glasses and an expression that told the patrons bellied up against the tarnished rail of the Lighthorseman bar that she was not someone to be toyed with. The shoulder holster exposed as she unfastened her cape further erased any lingering doubts.

  Lieb walked over to where Bovos was sitting in a dark corner of the place. She stood there for a moment staring at him, then asked curtly, "You Bovos?"

  "Lieutenant Hermann Bovos," he said, extending his hand. She looked at it, ignored the formality, and dropped into the chair opposite him. Bovos slowly withdrew his hand. "You must be—"

  "Yeah, I'm her. Don't use my name here. The last thing I need is someone overhearing you. I'd never offer a job to any of the trash in this place, but they'd swamp me if they knew I could. I'm pretty particular about who I hire."

  "So I hear," Hermann said. According to the grapevine that twisted its way through the bars and streets of Galatea, Clare Lieb was looking for a few mercenaries to pull off a mission in the Draconis Combine. That was all the detail he had, but he was hopeful. Perhaps, just maybe, this was the same group that had hit Shiro III. If not, she might know who was hiring for those jobs.

  "Your background is one of the few around here that checks out," she said, tossing his data disk across the marred table top. "I have some friends who have some friends, and they confirm that you really were a Lieutenant in the Second Oriente Hussars. Not bad. So, let me be blunt, what are you doing here?"

  Bovos's eyes narrowed. "Personal reasons."

  "You're going to have to do better than that, Bovos."

  "I'm looking for work. I want a job with some challenge. The stuff you can pick up on Outreach is too easy. I want something with some meat to it." He took a long draw of his Northwind Red, licking the excess from his lips.

  Lieb sat back and took her time crossing her arms, then chuckled, probably the one thing he wouldn't have expected her to do. "Just what I thought, a digger." She pushed the chair back from the table and stood, obviously about to walk out on him.

  "What in the hell is a 'digger'?" Bovos demanded.

  "You really are a newbie, aren't you? A digger, a mole, a plant. Spy-boy. We see them here on Galatea all the time. Plants from any one of the intelligence agencies of the Inner Sphere. I must admit you're the only one I've met from the Free Worlds League who stood out so badly though. You better let your boss know he needs to do a better job in cover-up training."

  Hermann stood. "You think I'm a spy?" He was stunned.

  "Of course. But a pretty sorry one. A guy like you won't last long in a place like this. If I were you, I'd be seeking a way to get my tush off this rock before somebody decides to take revenge for some old wrong out on your young head."

  Bovos reached out and gripped her arm to keep her from walking away. "You're wrong. I'm no spy. I'm just looking for work."

  Lieb looked pointedly at his hand on her arm and opened her cape wider to give him a clear view of the pulse laser pistol sitting in its holster. "Listen here, Bovos, or whatever your real name is, your story doesn't hold water with me."

  Several of the other patrons looked up briefly, also caught sight of the gun, then quickly returned to their drinks. "I've got some serious business to conduct with some mercenaries who aren't spending their time squealing to some spy-agency."

  "I'm not a spy," he said through gritted teeth, keeping hold of her arm despite the threat of the Sunbeam pistol.

  "Prove it," she replied.

  That caught him off guard even more than the accusation. The last thing he'd expected was to be taken for a SAFE agent. How in the name of Gaffa's Ghost did you refute something like that? He stared at her and felt his face grow warm with frustration and anger.

  "I—I can't. No matter what I say or do you're not going to believe me, are you?"

  "No."

  He swallowed his anger, which seemed to burn its way down though his chest and into his belly. "Fine then. Go— leave. But before you do, let me ask you this. This town is bulging with 'Mech pilots who haven't had half the career I have. You checked me out, you know I'm legit on that score. Can you really pass that up?"

  Clare Lieb listened carefully, then stared back at her arm. Hermann released his grip and she sat down. He wasn't sure what part of what he'd said had gotten to her, but at least she was still willing to talk.

  Lieb planted her elbows on the table and cradled her chin in her hands. "Why don't you tell me first why you're really here, Bovos? Try the truth this time. I'm a good listener if the story is good."

  "All right, I did lie about that much," he confessed apprehensively. "I'm here looking for a recruiter, somebody who ran a mission against my old unit before I mustered out."

  "Go on," she said.

  "I've seen them in combat and I want to sign up with them." Bovos could tell by the wincing expression on Lieb's face that she wasn't buying it. But she didn't get up again and seemed to be waiting for him to say more.

  "I didn't do the hiring for anybody heading for Shiro III," Lieb told him. "There's not many of us in the recruiting racket here on Galatea, not anymore. The job I was hiring for was a little Periphery op. And you can drop that line about trying to hire in with these bandits because they impressed you, Bovos. You've got something else written all over your face."

  Bovos shook his head, realizing he was no closer to finding the raiders who had ambushed and killed his lancemates. "You're right," he said finally, realizing he was going to have to tell her the truth. "I don't want to work with them, I want revenge. They lured us into a trap and wiped out my lance, one by one. I almost bought it myself. Somehow I survived, but I was the only one out of my command." There was a ripple of bitterness in his voice, anger as he couldn't help remembering the day of the attack.

  "I've heard about the raid. Hell, everyone's heard something about it. According to the reports it was old man Marik's Knights."

  Bovos shook his head again. 'They were painted up that way, but I don't think so. The Knights get new, top of the line 'Mechs, but these guys all had refits. Besides, nothing can make me believe that the Captain-General would use the Knights against his own countrymen."

  "The press doesn't see it that way."

  "Damn the press to hell a
nd back. I was there. I saw them."

  Lieb gave him a pencil-thin smile, the closest thing she ever got to a full grin. "Listen to me, Bovos. Spending your life looking for revenge can be pretty lonely. Most of 'em like that just seem to dry up, get mean, and then get old and sloppy before they go off to die. I need 'Mech jocks and I'd say you're one who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sign on with me. Within six months you'll forget all about going after revenge."

  Bovos was listening hard. Maybe she was right. Would he become just a bitter man looking to right a wrong that he never could or would? No. This wasn't just a matter of simple revenge. The men who'd died in his command had been murdered, the deck stacked against them from the start. He took a sip of his Northwind Red, then sat staring at the mug for a while before turning back to Clare Lieb. "I wish I could, but this is something I've got to do."

  She nodded slightly. "What will you do next?"

  "I'm not sure. But I believe that whoever hit my unit must have been recruited here. No legitimate mercs would undertake that kind of mission, posing as a friendly unit and all."

  Lieb's face drew tight as she rubbed her chin in thought. "If you're gonna make it here there's a few things you can do to flush out whoever is doing the hiring for those kinds of raids. Galatea runs a series of games, tournaments."

  "Yeah, I saw a poster for one. Looks like the kind of 'Mech duels they run on Solaris."

  Lieb chuckled at his comment. "Son, what we've got on Galatea hasn't got a shred in common with what you see on the holovid from Solaris. Those are formal matches in specialized arenas. This here is the minor leagues. These guys play for keeps. Nasty stuff too. A lot of Mech Warriors never make it out of the arena. Those that do find their 'Mechs blasted apart and have little in the way of funding or spares to keep them going. Still, if you fight well and stand out, somebody's going to want to hire you. Get hooked up with some of the mercenary units that are forming here, and eventually you might find the people who did your unit in."