Star lord

by Donald G. Phillips

  "There's nothing more for us to do here. The raiders got away and the damage is already done."

  Duncan looked around him. Smoke from several fires still drifted into the evening sky, marking where the raiders had struck. They were still out there, somewhere, laughing at everyone. They'd pulled off raids on four worlds, taken on major and small units and waxed them at every turn.

  But he and Trane had accomplished something here on Herotitus. We got close this time, we were one step ahead of them and we saw what they did. We also know that the source of this information is on Galatea. Go there, to the old Mercenary's Star, and maybe we can learn the truth and find out who is behind these raids.

  "Let's go," Duncan said. The two men began to walk across the long stretch of tarmac back to their DropShip. They had a long journey ahead.

  11

  Galaport

  Galatea

  Skye March, Federated Commonwealth

  5 May 3057

  Dawn had known the pains and pounding headache of hunger before, but not for many years. The last time had been during a survival training exercise in her sibko days. As a test of their ability to live off the land, she and the other cadets had been sent for a week into the deadly jungles of Arcadia. Several of her sibkin nearly died in that place of killer beasts and poisonous vegetation, but Dawn had learned that all she needed to survive was her wits.

  In some ways coming to this place called Galatea was a similar test. She was no longer among her own people and must understand and adapt to whatever were the limits and laws and customs of this alien society. It wasn't the first time Dawn had encountered freebirths of the Inner Sphere, but she'd never observed them so closely. She'd spent most of the past five days wandering the streets and markets, watching people, observing their manners, their ways, their speech, their clothing, even the way they walked. It was truly alien, this life, and Dawn sometimes imagined herself regaling her comrades with tales of these Inner Sphere barbarians. How the others would laugh, how they would scorn, how they would pity these freebirths.

  But she must not waste her thoughts so idly. Hunger she could survive for a while longer, but Dawn knew her biggest dilemma was coin—or the lack of it. No Clan warrior needed money, for all basic needs, from food and shelter to education and medical care, were provided. Not so here in the Inner Sphere.

  She had been sleeping in alleys, where she saw others picking through the garbage bins for scraps of food before also bedding down there for the night. But Dawn was no stranger to sleeping out of doors, nor did she find it particularly uncomfortable. What did shock her was how many of these freebirths were gray-haired, stooped, and wrinkled. Dawn had seen very few aged people in her life, for the Clans had no use for the old. At twenty-nine, she was already past the age when most warriors won a Bloodname—if they were ever going to do so. The sight of people who'd survived beyond the age when they could possibly be useful disgusted her. It was a fate worse than death for a Clan warrior, who hoped to die in combat long before he or she became too old for battle.

  Jabuka and other planets in the Clan Occupation Zone were much different from Galatea. Their cities were controlled by the Clans, the conquered populations governed by Clan laws and traditions. It was difficult to grasp, but Dawn was finally beginning to understand that life in the Inner Sphere was not ruled by caste. Among the Clans there was no easy mixing and conversation between members of the various strata. Such encounters were rare, at best, and usually determined only by the needs and desires of the ruling warriors.

  This was important for Dawn to learn. Until now, she had avoided speaking to people. Though her appearance was probably strange, the streets of Galaport were full of mercenaries wearing all manner of uniforms and everything in between. But she knew her speech would give her away instantly. Dawn couldn't be sure how people might react to her. She was, after all, from the enemy.

  This morning Dawn was walking down a street she had not explored previously. All around her she saw people setting up displays and outdoor stands and tents, probably getting ready for a local market day. Young laborers with bandannas around their foreheads and sweatbands around their necks were bringing in loads of fresh vegetables, fruits, spices, and other food items she could not identify. Others were unloading racks of clothing from several big trucks, while further up the street she saw still others carrying huge flat pans filled with loaves of bread high over their heads. The bread must be just baked and warm, for its tantalizing scent carried all the way down the street.

  Thoughts of food were suddenly interrupted by a rough voice. "Say, girl," the man said, "how do you like Galaport?"

  Dawn turned quickly, instantly assessing the possible threat. She saw none in this man wearing high leather boots and soft trousers belted at the waist, so overweight his belly actually hung over his belt-line. He was also nearly bald except for a few strands of gray-white hair draped across the top of his head in a foolish attempt to make it look like the hair still grew there. As he smiled, Dawn winced at the sight of his yellowed teeth.

  The man laughed. "You're a Clanner, aren't you?" His eyes ran from her short-cropped hair to her leather jacket, to the place where her unit insignia had been torn off, to her tan jump trousers and leather boots.

  "I am no longer of the Clans," she said curtly. "Perhaps you should go, quiaff?" She wanted this freebirth to leave her alone.

  "That so?" He held out his hand. "Well, I'm Edel Mordoc."

  Dawn looked down at his hand, not sure what he expected her to do. "I am Dawn."

  Mordoc dropped his hand. "Dawn what?"

  "My name is Dawn."

  "I heard that. What's your last name?"

  "I do not have a ... second name," she said. Among the Clans people were born with only one name. To win a second name, a Bloodname, was very difficult, and the honor went only to the most elite warriors. Dawn had competed in several Trials of Bloodright and had just missed winning her last one. She'd been confident she'd win the next time, but now that would never happen. The Judgment had ended her life in the Clans.

  "Come on," Mordoc insisted, "everybody has a last name."

  "Neg, I have none."

  Mordoc looked her over from head to toe once more, but this time with obvious suspicion. "Let me be sure I'm getting this right. You're not Clan now, but you were once, eh? I've never heard of anyone leaving the Clans before." He did nothing to mask the suspicion in his voice.

  "I did not leave, I was removed." The words were hard to say but stung with the truth. She made her face hard and closed, defying him to pry further.

  Mordoc saw the look, and must have guessed that getting deeper at the truth would take time. "What were you, a MechWarrior, a technician?"

  Dawn drew herself up in pride. "I am a warrior." She did not speak in past tense. Her Clan had cast her out, but they could not take from her who she was in body and mind. She was Dawn, a warrior, and would always be that.

  "You got a lot of guts coming here."

  His comment surprised her. "Explain."

  Mordoc looked around and pointed to a small cafe across the way. "The street isn't exactly the place to talk. You eaten yet?"

  "Neg. Not for several days." Dawn did not say it in shame or weakness, but with pride.

  "Listen," Mordoc said. "I might be able to help you. Let me buy you some grub and I can fill you in on anything you want to know about Galatea."

  Dawn looked at him warily. "I do not know you. I should not trust a stranger who comes up on the street offering me help and a meal, quiaff?"

  The big man smiled again. "Well, Dawn, some food might do you good. All I'm asking is for a few minutes of your time, a chance to make you a very interesting business proposition."

  Dawn drew back in disdain. Business proposition? She was a warrior, a member of the Steel Vipers, an elite. Even outcast from her Clan, the Viper blood ran through her veins. Now she was consorting with merchants and beggars. As much as she wanted to believe that things hadn't chan
ged, it finally hit her that they had. She was in the Inner Sphere now, and all the Clan pride and honor to which she wanted to cling so fiercely would neither feed nor clothe her.

  The time had come for her to face reality. It was the only way to survive.

  * * *

  Mordoc took a seat at the empty counter of the small cafe, and Dawn sat beside him as his extra bulk settled down around him in rolls. He ordered for them both without consulting her, but Dawn did not care. She wouldn't have known what to ask for, and she was still reeling a bit from her first encounter here in this alien place.

  "You know, you're the first Clanner I've ever met," he said as the waiter poured them each a steaming cup of dark liquid.

  "That is not so strange. Not many of us have ventured beyond the occupation zone."

  "Treaties do that," Mordoc said. His reference to the Treaty of Tukayyid touched the painful place in Dawn's heart, but she steeled herself against the memories. This was no time for dwelling on Tukayyid, the losses, the humiliation. No, right now she needed all her courage and strength.

  "You spoke of a business proposition," she said. "You wish to offer me work, quiaff?"

  Mordoc looked a little confused, but apparently understood the gist of her query. "Work? In a way. I like to think of it as a great opportunity—and you should too. You see, I run a small stable here on Galatea."

  Dawn tilted her head slightly to one side. "I have no skill with animals. I am of the warrior caste. You misunderstand my capabilities, quiaff?"

  Mordoc waved his hands and shook his head. "You're thinking of the wrong kind of stable, Dawn. On Galatea and a few other worlds like it, a stable refers to a group of MechWarriors who join together to fight in 'Mech duels. In arenas. Have you heard of that?"

  Dawn nodded. She knew of the 'Mech games on Solaris VII, where MechWarriors squared off in combat, sometimes even to the death. The games were viewed as corrupt by many in the Clans, though Dawn thought she understood their purpose. The Steel Vipers often performed such training between units.

  "You have such a group of MechWarriors then, quiaff?"

  "Yes. And I would like to hire you for my little stable."

  "But you know nothing of me or my skills."

  He shrugged. "It's a risk I'm willing to take. You're a Clanner, which means you're a very good warrior. So maybe they threw you out from some reason, but all that genetic tinkering probably gives you a hell of a head start over most of the other 'Mech jocks on this rock. I'd rather have that working for me than for one of my competitors."

  "What must I do?"

  Mordoc took a sip from his steaming cup. "I'm paid if my stable wins a match. But for that I need good MechWarriors. Fight for me and I'll pay you well—in hard currency. You'll get to climb into a BattleMech again—nothing like the ones you Clanners have, but a good old girl anyway. You say you're a warrior. Well, here's a chance to show your stuff. Besides, you being such a total unknown ought to get me some great odds, for the first few fights anyway."

  Dawn said nothing because she didn't know what to say. She picked up the mug in front of her and lifted it to her lips, then immediately spat out whatever brew the thing was filled with.

  Mordoc tried to hide his smile as he handed her a handkerchief. "You're on your own now, Dawn, and it sounds like you haven't got any money. Clanner or not, you're going to need it if you plan to stick around Galaport or any other place in the Inner Sphere."

  Dawn dabbed at her face with the handkerchief, now fully realizing what Mordoc had in mind. A mercenary. He wanted to pay her to fight, he wanted to make her into a mercenary. To a Clan warrior, there was no lower form of existence than a warrior who sold his skills.

  Anger roared in her ears and her face burned red. The Clan hatred of mercenaries ran deep. After the fall of the Star League, Stefan Amaris had depended heavily on them. Some lived on in Clan history as despicable villains, especially the members of the infamous Greenhaven Gestapo. The idea of joining such a group was appalling.

  "You have erred. I will not fight for money. That is the way of the mercenary and I would not stoop to it. I may no longer be of the Steel Vipers, but I cannot be other than what I am and always have been." She rose to leave.

  Edel Mordoc reached up and tried to grab her arm, only to have Dawn jerk it free. The look in her eyes told him he was dangerously close to a fight he couldn't have won even in his prime. "Wait. What if I didn't pay you?"

  Dawn was still staring at him. "Explain."

  "I provide you with whatever you need; food, clothes, you name it. No money need change hands. Just an arrangement between friends."

  Dawn was thinking hard. Mercenaries were warriors who sold their services for profit, but if she accepted Mordoc's offer she would earn nothing by her actions. She would simply be able to survive. But was that not the same thing as being a mercenary? Was it not a twisting of her beliefs? Dawn could not be sure of the answers to those questions. What she did know was that sooner or later she must cease living on the streets, that she must find some kind of safe haven from which to plan her next moves.

  "Aff," she said finally, "I accept, but I will have nothing to do with money. You will never offer me coin in return for fighting in your ... stable. Do so, and I will leave. But not before we settle the matter in a Circle of Equals."

  Mordoc hadn't the faintest idea what a Circle of Equals was, but Dawn's tone made him hope he never had to meet her in one.

  "Deal," he said, not believing his luck. He had just recruited a Clan warrior to his stable. Better yet, one who demanded that she not be paid for doing her work. Ha!

  "Well bargained and done," she replied. 'This stable has a name, quiaffl"

  "Yes, we call it Mordoc's Minutemen."

  Dawn nodded. For now they would be her Clan, her home. It was a start, a beginning. From here she might begin to see the road back to what she had once been and might still become. For the first time in weeks Dawn had a sense of purpose, a reason for being. She was no longer lost among the stars.

  Winter Palace, Dormuth Marik

  Marik Commonwealth

  Free Worlds League

  As with so many things associated with Thomas Marik, his study in the Winter Palace on Marik was like a visit to the past. Rich mahogany wainscoting lined the walls, two of which were hung with real oil paintings of sailing ships and early spacecraft, and the other two given over to built-in bookcases filled with hardcopy books dating back five centuries, or more. The beautiful rugs laid down over the gleaming wooden floor also seemed to speak of another time. The patterns were hand-loomed, obviously dating back centuries as well.

  The centerpiece of the room was the Captain-General's carved mahogany desk set near the massive stone fireplace. Standing behind it, striking in his white uniform of office, was Thomas Marik. The Marik eagle formed the clasp of the rich cape thrown back from his shoulders. Seated opposite him were Harrison Kalma and Wilson Cherenkov, both of whom turned at the sound of footsteps.

  "Welcome back," the Captain-General said, a smile of real pleasure on his face.

  Rod Trane bowed slightly, which Duncan forgot to do. "Thank you, sire," he said quickly, trying to cover his embarrassment. "We sent our report on ahead. Have you had a chance to review it?"

  "Yes," Marik said. "We were just discussing it." He gestured to two dark red leather chairs set between the elder Kalma and Cherenkov. "Please, gentlemen, have a seat."

  "You two had quite an adventure, Captain Trane," Marik went on. "But wasn't stealing a BattleMech and actually taking on these impostors a bit beyond the scope of the mission?"

  "I accept responsibility for what happened, sire. We did not see our mission at risk, and we thought it might be an opportunity to capture one of the raiders."

  "Which you were unable to do," Cherenkov said.

  Duncan spoke up quickly. "That's true, sir, but we still learned some interesting things about them."

  Duncan took Marik's calm silence as a cue to continue. "Th
is was the fake Knights' first strike against a major metropolitan area and they pulled it off by the book. And with plenty of skill. The Vindicator we tangled with got out of there as soon as we got toasted. But up till then he stayed his distance and just kept pummeling us at long and medium ranges. A green warrior would have rushed in for the kill. No, these attackers are trained."

  "We also learned that SAFE'S information regarding contacts on Galatea is accurate," Thomas said, with a nod at the intelligence chief.

  "Thank you, milord." Cherenkov's usually stern expression softened slightly.

  "Well, the Knights have arrived and are bivouacked here on Marik, but how we proceed from here is tricky politically. After the attack on the Twenty-fourth Lyrans I can hardly send them to Galatea without risking the charge that I'm again using my Knights to invade Federated Commonwealth space. Secrecy is the key, gentlemen. My son Joshua is under the care of Victor Davion's people, and he may be refraining from making an issue of this matter to keep from looking like a continual warmonger to his people. I wouldn't want to give him any cause to believe the strike on Valexa was anything other than it was, the work of imposters. The two of you making a run to the Periphery to glean confirmation of a rumor is one thing, sending a fully functional unit into another government's space is quite another."

  Marik paused, choosing his words carefully. "Your next step is to return to Galatea with a company of Knights, posing as mercenaries. But should the operation become exposed, I will not be able to protect you. And even if I could, it would only add fuel to the argument that the raids really were conducted by the Knights."

  "Understood," Duncan replied.

  "Good. Now, gentlemen, how soon can you leave?"

  "In a few days time. I want to make sure the unit is ready," Duncan said.

  His statement seemed to rub Trane the wrong way. "We're Knights of the Inner Sphere, not some vagabond mercenary unit. We can be ready within the hour if you so desire."