Star lord

by Donald G. Phillips

  "Sounds good," Bovos said, his spirits suddenly rising. "How do you get into these games?"

  Lieb looked around the bar to make sure no one was listening. "I don't do this for just anybody, but I do have a few contacts who might be able to help you get started—with a good word from me."

  Hermann Bovos leaned forward, hanging on every word that she said.

  Commercial DropShip Levine's Star

  Orbital Entry Approach

  Herotitus, The Periphery

  Duncan walked up to the stateroom and knocked on the door. The trip to Herotitus had taken over two weeks, thanks in part to a command circuit of JumpShips the Captain-General had put at their disposal, a circuit that would await their return as well. This trip would normally have taken much longer, with the JumpShips needing at least a week to recharge their solar batteries at each stop.

  Now that they were only a few hours from Herotitus, Duncan knew he had to try and speak with Rod Trane again. It was a matter of necessity, not just small talk.

  The two always seemed to rub each other the wrong way, and had from the minute they'd met. A part of Duncan wanted to put an end to it, even if it meant beating the hell out of the high and mighty Sir Knight of the Inner Sphere. Another part of him almost enjoyed the tension. It wasn't hard to figure out why Rod Trane disliked him so. Trane was nothing if not proud of being a knight. To him Duncan must seem like so much mercenary scum, and he must deeply resent having to work under him. Regardless, thought Duncan, we're going to be operating on my turf, the Periphery. I don't want this white knight to get the both of us killed because his little ego is sensitive.

  At his knock, the door to Trane's cabin opened a crack, letting Duncan peer in. He was impressed at how pristinely clean and orderly the tiny stateroom had been maintained. Even the two books on the tight drop-cot bed seemed to be laid out symmetrically. Duncan laughed to himself, thinking about the contrast to his own cabin.

  "Yes," Trane said, still not opening the door all the way.

  Duncan gave the door a little push. "We need to talk. We're only a few hours from planetfall and I thought I'd fill you in on what I know about Herotitus."

  "I've thoroughly scanned the intelligence data SAFE provided," Trane said. "I doubt you could add anything to those reports."

  Duncan grinned and stepped into Trane's room, just fitting past the other man's attempt to block his entry. "Oh really?" He walked over to the meticulously made bed and slouched down onto it.

  "Did those SAFE reports tell you how the casinos are rigged? Did they tell you that the police chief in New Hedon is on the take from three different gangs and often sets up travelers like us on trumped-up crimes to extort money from their families? Did those SAFE reports tell you about the illegal slave market they run there?"

  Trane closed the door, crossed his arms and leaned against it. "No, they didn't."

  Duncan gave a short laugh. "And that's just the tip of the iceberg."

  "Why didn't the reports mention any of this?"

  Duncan shrugged as he scanned the hardcopy books. One was by someone named Patton and the other by a Chinese author he'd never heard of. "SAFE doesn't know everything."

  Trane frowned. "Well, what you've just described is barbaric. Apparently everything they say about the Periphery is true."

  "Like what?"

  "It's a place beyond the pale. Uncivilized. Lawless. The people are barbarians, with living conditions to match. The technology's years behind what we've got in the Free Worlds League. And its people are often fugitives from the law with no ties to moral decency."

  Duncan felt a pang of pity for Trane. "You're an odd man, Trane. I heard Thomas Marik describe his vision, one that you share, a vision that the Knights are a social force rather than a military one. Yet now I find you to be someone who lacks faith in what he's allegedly dedicated his life to."

  "Lacks faith? I resent that remark, Kalma, especially from someone who's only here because of who is father is. Lacks faith indeed."

  "Let me say this and say it only once," Duncan said, curbing his urge to punch Trane in the mouth. "I'm here because of me, not my father. The Captain-General invited me personally. And on my original point, yes, you're judging these people on where they live rather than who they are. I'm willing to bet you've never even been to the Periphery."

  "Never. And the sooner we leave the better, as far as I'm concerned."

  "For someone who's part of an elite legion bent on changing the social structure of the Inner Sphere, you sure have a limited view of things."

  "What do you mean?"

  Duncan had obviously struck a nerve. Good, he thought. Let him simmer.

  "I'll grant you, the Periphery is a frontier of sorts, but you don't have to look down on the people and their way of life. These folks may be working with inferior technology, but they make up for it in sheer bravery and determination. Sure, some are criminals, but a lot of them are farmers and miners and other kinds of honest working people who hope that one day their children will prosper because of their hard work.

  "You studied the history of the Star League. Remember it took twenty years and the entire Star League Defense Force to bring the Periphery under the League's rule. These people are proud and independent. With an attitude like yours, they'll kill you as surely as look at you."

  Trane was, for the moment, speechless, but Duncan knew that winning a battle wasn't the same as winning the war. He sprang to his feet almost nonchalantly and reached past Trane for the door tab. "I'll see you when we touch down." To his surprise Trane reached out and grabbed his wrist tightly.

  "Not yet," he said. "Our discussion isn't over."

  Duncan reached down and gave the skin of Trane's wrist a vicious pinch. "I think it is." Trane's reflexes kicked in and he let go of Duncan's hand. Both men stood holding their sore wrists.

  Duncan looked at Trane squarely and firmly. "You hate me, don't you?"

  Trane surprised him by shaking his head. "No, not hate. But I don't respect you."

  "Same thing."

  "No, it's not."

  "Regardless, Captain Trane," Duncan said, "on this mission you report to me. We don't have to like each other at all, but I do expect you to follow the orders of Thomas Marik." With that he reached out and hit the switch to open the door.

  This trip might just be worth my while after all, he thought as he pushed past the Knight of the Inner Sphere.

  9

  New Hedon

  Herotitus

  The Periphery

  30 April 3057

  The spaceport in New Hedon was little more than a big black tarmac surrounded by a small scattering of warehouses. From the spaceport at its center the city sprang outward in all directions. With the morning sun beaming down on them, Duncan Kalma and Rod Trane descended the ramp and were immediately approached by a man handing out pamphlets. Duncan nodded and took one, as did Trane. "What's this?" Trane said. '

  Duncan took the leaflet and carefully folded it before putting it into his back pocket. "Advertisement for the Mother Lode Casino. Great place, from what I remember."

  Trane wadded his into a small ball and stuffed it into a pouch in his carry-on bag. "We won't have time for such foolishness."

  Duncan grinned broadly. "Like hell. I plan to make time. Besides, we're here to see if this planet gets hit by the fake Knights. According to my calculations, we have a day or so before they were supposed to hit, according to the SAFE report anyway."

  "You can go to a casino and waste your time and money, Kalma. But right now we need to find customs, get cleared, and find a base of operations."

  "Already taken care of," Duncan said.

  "Oh really?" Trane reverted to the arrogant tone that served to cover his surprise or annoyance whenever Duncan managed to get the better of him.

  "Yes. I took the liberty of booking a room at The Bismarck, a hotel not far from here. I've stayed there before. It's an older place, but isn't totally lacking in either amenities or ch
arm, and it's got a great bar. And, as for customs, there aren't any."

  "No customs office?" Trane asked in surprise. "How do they keep people from smuggling in personal weapons or other goods?" As he spoke, Trane's eyes scanned the surrounding area, apparently hoping to spot a customs official simply to prove Duncan wrong. But, except for the maintenance crews, they were quite alone.

  Duncan gestured in a wide sweep that took in the whole of New Hedon like a ringmaster opening the circus. "Welcome to the Periphery," he said.

  * * *

  At one time the Bismarck Hotel had probably been a showplace, even in a city on a frontier as remote as Herotitus. It had obviously been built centuries before, when mankind had been expanding outward from Terra and still in the first flush of colonization. An era when men and women of the Periphery believed that their backwater worlds would one day be thoroughly developed as the frontier of the Inner Sphere continued to expand outward.

  Then came the collapse of the Star League and all that changed.

  The outward expansion died as the dreams of the Star League went up in the flames of the Succession Wars. No longer a way-station on an expanding frontier, Herotitus became frozen in time on the border with the great unknown. The Bismarck showed the signs. Even decades of obvious neglect could not totally diminish the splendor of what must once have been an elegant lobby. Remnants of past eras, paintings and other ornamentation, intricate carvings near the main staircase, the stunning mirrors in the lobby, all spoke of another, perhaps more innocent, time.

  Duncan and Trane shared a room on the fifth floor, neither one commenting as they entered and took in their surroundings. Seeing that it was small but immaculately clean seemed to surprise Trane, who looked relieved. Duncan tossed his bag on one of the beds while Trane carefully unpacked his and laid each piece of clothing, neatly folded, in a drawer of the small dresser.

  "We should go down, get something to eat, then stop by one of the casinos," said Duncan, by now reclining on the bed with his head propped on one elbow as he watched Trane.

  Trane looked over his shoulder with a rare smile. "Good idea, Kalma. After a diet of ship's food I could go for a real meal. I think I'll pass on the casino, however."

  "Why's that?"

  "It wouldn't be fitting, but I won't object if that's how you want to pass the time."

  Sitting up straight at the response, Duncan was dumbfounded. "Are you telling me you wouldn't go into a casino because you're a Knight of the Inner Sphere?"

  "Affirmative," Trane returned, sounding quite proud of himself. Almost unconsciously he stood at parade rest during this exchange with Duncan.

  "Why?"

  Trane paused, obviously marshaling his thoughts. "When we were on the DropShip you accused me of lacking vision. But that's where you're wrong about me. I've been to plenty of pubs in my time, but now I place a higher code of conduct and honor above personal wishes and desires."

  "But all we're talking about is a little innocent amusement," Duncan parried. "I'm not inviting you to a lynching or a human sacrifice."

  "You just don't understand. No matter where I go, no matter what I do, I'm a Knight of the Inner Sphere. I've sworn to uphold the honor of House Marik and the Free Worlds League. What would people think of the Knights if they saw me frequenting bars, maybe having a cup too many or perhaps gambling like a fool?"

  They might think you 're human, Duncan thought, but all he said was "We're just talking about the things every soldier does, at least once in awhile."

  "Those things would offend some people. The only way I can hope to represent the best of the best, the epitome of what a MechWarrior and a person can become, is to try to live beyond reproach. To live as though my honor were one and the same with that of the Free Worlds League and my liege lord."

  Duncan thought he understood, but it was hard to grasp such depth of commitment. "No one knows you're here, Captain. No one will know you're a Knight, so I don't see how you can tarnish your image or sully the good name of Thomas Marik either."

  Trane smiled, unshaken in his conviction. "You simply don't understand. I will know. That's enough. If I can't be true to myself, then who or what can I be true to?"

  Duncan nodded. What Trane said made a crazy kind of sense, and he was starting to seem not so much a prig as a man who knew his place in the scheme of things. Duncan didn't like him any better, but couldn't help but respect the strength of his convictions. He didn't like admitting to himself that Trane had something he lacked—a purpose in life. I left the military and wandered around, as a mercenary, gambler, and what not. No regrets. I lived my life for me and wouldn't change any of it. What's different is that Trane would lay down his life for the Captain-General or the League without giving it a second thought. I'm not sure I could do the same—for anybody or anything. Trane's last words struck him the hardest. Am I true to myself?

  "Captain, I think this round of our fighting is over and I concede the victory to you," Duncan said, bowing in mock salute.

  "Very gracious of you, Kalma," Trane returned.

  "Lunch then, and a walking tour of the city. I want to check out the possible targets and avenues of approach. If these raiders do show up, let's see if we can figure out what they might do and where they might attack."

  "Good thinking," Trane said. He opened the door, gesturing to Duncan with a mock "after you." Duncan chuckled at this rare show of lightheartedness, then the two men walked out of the room, down the stairs and out onto the street, headed toward the outskirts of New Hedon.

  Galaport

  Galatea

  Skye March, Federated Commonwealth

  Garth Hawkes had discarded his former Lancers uniform for one of studded leather. He'd also removed the spurs he'd worn as a Mech Warrior of the Armed Forces of the Federated Commonwealth in favor of plain high boots. His hair had grown even longer, and he'd begun a dark beard that was in a stubbly uneven phase that made him look more disreputable than rugged.

  He'd been on Galatea for nearly a week, long enough to make numerous contacts, but he still had not made the one he'd come for. In fact, he'd realized after only a few days that any employer wanting to put together a raid by false Knights would be doing his recruiting at the 'Mech games. So now he was concentrating on finding a local sponsor who would let him compete and show off his 'Mech piloting skills. And that was why he was seated in this little office at the end of Delancey Street, near the center of town.

  Trying to win a slot in the games was a positive diversion and kept him busy, kept him from thinking too much about how the men and women of his unit had died while he'd been sipping Northwind Red in town. It was only at night that the memories came back to haunt him—the sights and sounds of the battle already in progress when he'd finally arrived on the scene. He wondered if he'd ever put those demons to rest.

  "You Hawkes?" The deep raspy voice startled Hawkes from his reverie.

  "I'm him," he said, trying to look as casual and tough as he dared without overplaying the role. The man who'd spoken looked like he weighed in at no less than 350 kilos, half of which had to be pure muscle. Thick, curly body hair tufted from his open shirt and across his thick arms.

  "Former Davion jock, eh?"

  "You got it."

  "What're you doing here then?"

  "Let's just say I didn't leave on the best of terms."

  "Let's just say you tell me why you left or you get out of here," the big man rumbled.

  Hawkes paused as if trying to decide whether or not to trust him with his tale. "I was the officer in charge of payroll for the company. Let's just say my books didn't exactly jive with what command thought they should. When they decided to run an audit, I decided I didn't want to spend the rest of my life in a stockade."

  The man chuckled slightly, wiping at the sheen of sweat on his shaved head. Either the room had gotten hotter or Hawkes was getting more nervous. "Pretty damn cocky. Stealing funds from the Fed-boys takes some moxie."

  "Where do you
think I got the money for a 'Mech?" Garth returned, telling himself to relax. Showing up with a BattleMech on Galatea was a prudent move. His father's connections had helped him get a good price, but the 'Mech was an older model that had been over-customized in its career. It was a Crusader, long ago mustered out of active service, but it was his and his alone.

  "Afraid to go to Solaris 'cause they'll spot you and arrest your butt, eh?"

  Hawkes nodded.

  "Well, maybe you came to the right place. I don't know if you're any good, but I need somebody with a 'Mech. My best fighter skipped out a few days ago, and I need to keep up my end of this match."

  "What's the deal?"

  "You fight, kick the guy's tin butt. I get any and all salvage and sixty percent of the take on the bets."

  "No way," Hawkes said boldly. Galatea was a dangerous place to go around bluffing, but if he gave in too quickly they'd see right through him. Word would get around and he'd never find the people behind that raid.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I put my head on the line and get forty percent? Uh-uh. Fifty percent and you pay half the repairs."

  "You're dreamin'," the huge man said, shifting his bulk behind the small desk.

  "Like you said, you need me. There are plenty of Mech-Warriors in Galaport, but from what I've seen, most are Dispossessed. I'm here now with a 'Mech. And I promise you I've got the skills to beat any comers. Take it or leave it."

  The man stared at him. "Fifty-fifty, but you pay for your own parts."

  Hawkes nodded. "You just got yourself a 'Mech jock, friend." Now all he had to do was win a few victories so he could flush out whoever was doing the hiring for those raiders.

  Commercial DropShip Blitzen

  Orbital Approach

  Galatea

  Skye March, Federated Commonwealth