Now it was Kerensky’s turn to frown. No doubt she thought that her report, transmitted ahead of her arrival, had covered that. “Helmer jumped out of the Chaffee system three hours ahead of us. I would assume to return to Glengarry.”
Tara let Kerensky stew in her assumption a moment. It was a petty revenge, perhaps, for her earlier goading about Jasek, but it would also serve to put the other woman on the defensive, turning her strategic thinking toward the larger problems at hand.
“You would assume that. So would I, in fact. But we have intelligence out of the Glengarry system that is less than a week old, and as far as we can tell no retreating forces from Chaffee have arrived there.” She leaned back against her Shandra. “So the big question is, where did they go?”
If one thing could be said about Anastasia Kerensky, it was that no one put her on the defensive for very long. She waved a hand at Tara. “That’s still a little question,” she said dismissively.
All right. “So what is the big question, then?”
Anastasia Kerensky’s smile widened into a predator’s grin, showing the teeth behind. The question, when she asked it, sent a chill through Tara Campbell. The Countess knew that the Steel Wolf leader had the right of it.
She also knew, without a doubt, that they were fortunate to have her back on Skye.
Tassa Kay blew on her fingertips, flexed the hand like a gunfighter preparing for a speed draw.
“When will they be here?”
22
DropShip Himmelstor
Over Hesperus II
Lyran Commonwealth
22 November 3134
Refusing with a sharp shake of his head to leave the bridge of the Himmelstor, Jasek weathered Kaptain Goran’s pointed stare and belted himself into the chair normally reserved for the ship’s executive officer. The DropShip’s command center was a beehive of activity as they approached atmospheric insertion over Hesperus II, with crewmen manning the different stations, calling out time checks, attitude adjustments, and range to target on a contact that Jasek would feel better forgetting was even there.
“And I can’t convince you to go below,” the kaptain said, his voice rough and gravelly from decades of calling out orders. Thick-necked and heavy-browed, Eduard Goran was a fourth-generation spacer with family ties back to the Lyran Commonwealth.
Jasek gripped the arms of the command-style chair. “I will if you will,” he said easily.
The Stormhammers’ leader had had enough of “below” after four days under a high-gravity burn, ramping up and holding at the equivalent of 2.5 Gs. Except for short low-gravity periods where a skeleton crew made their rounds and everyone was allowed to eat or take care of personal ablutions, Jasek had been confined to quarters and strapped into bed, feeling as if his spine were threatening to snap in half. Hammered until his joints ached and every muscle felt bruised.
A “suicide sled” run, that’s what Goran had called it when Hesperus authorities approved Jasek’s request for a fast insertion lane. A Lyran Scout jumped the Himmelstor to a special Lagrange point in-system, near Hesperus III. Then the trial began.
After barely an hour of the rough treatment, Jasek could think of it only as a necessary evil.
Even with his personal JumpShip fitted out with lithium-fusion batteries, able to make the double-jump transfer from Chaffee’s Lagrange point to the Hesperus system in less than a day, this was the only way he hoped to get in and out fast enough to do Skye any good. Using a closer set of nonstandard jump coordinates was out of the question. Jasek had been willing to risk it—anything to save himself the eighteen-day insertion time—but Goran had flat refused. There were things worse than a deep gravity well protecting Hesperus II from unwanted trespassers.
And thinking of which . . . “She’s going to come down our port ventral side,” the ship’s sensor officer called out, and if it was possible to ratchet tension on the bridge up another few degrees, that did it.
Goran grunted. “Roll five degrees starboard. Bring her up on the main screen.”
There was no ferroglass viewport on an Overlord bridge. No “weather deck” bulkheads at all, in fact. The command center was nestled safely and securely in the DropShip’s centerline spaces where only a naval-class missile might hope to penetrate.
And if there hadn’t currently been a half dozen launchers capable of throwing such a missile at the Himmelstor already locked on to them, Jasek might have felt fairly safe.
The screen, which had been filled with black space and bright stars a moment before, switched camera angles and found the fast-approaching world of Hesperus II. Duncolored with streaks of dark brown, the planetary surface had a craggy, unfinished look about it with very little vegetation to soften the knife-edged mountains that divided the main continents. Jasek knew that with mean equatorial temperatures up to eighty degrees Celsius, the world was habitable only in the far northern reaches, and most of the population preferred to live under atmospherically controlled domes.
He knew a lot, in fact, about this world he had never visited. Hesperus II was a storied world in the Lyran Commonwealth. One of perhaps twelve worlds about which legend had it that if you knew their history you knew nearly everything important to know about the Inner Sphere. It was here that House Steiner learned of BattleMech designs when an ancient ancestor of Jasek’s, Simon Kelswa, raided the Terran Hegemony world in 2445. Hesperus II eventually became a Lyran holding, and was attacked more than fifteen times in major assaults by Houses Kurita, Marik, even Davion. But the world never gave up its allegiance or its secrets again. The ’Mech factories, so important during the Succession Wars and the Jihad, were built beneath the Myoo Mountains and essentially impenetrable to an outside force. Even in this time of downsized militaries coming off a golden age of peace, the factories at Hesperus II continued to turn out ’Mechs at a pace that most other worlds considered reckless.
And this was one of the reasons for Jasek’s hastily planned visit.
“The Myoos,” Kaptain Goran said, using a laser pointer to scribe a fast circle around a particularly wrinkled range of mountains in the northwest section of the planet’s northernmost continent. With a practiced spacer’s eye, he found the gray stain that was the only city on the planet large enough to be recognized as such from space. “Maria’s Elegy. Put Defiance Peak about here, then.” He speared a large mountain with the pointer, seemingly at random.
Defiance Peak. Home of the local Defiance Industries factories. Duke Vedet Brewster, the world’s hereditary ruler, would have his capital at Maria’s Elegy, which was also where House Steiner’s personal ambassador would reside.
Yes, Jasek was interested in those landmarks.
Then a gray-black veil swept over the planet, hazy in its eclipse. Jasek felt a sharp thrill run through him as Goran ordered his technicians, “Scale back. Bring her into focus.”
Coming down the Himmelstor’s port ventral side. That’s what the sensor officer had said. But no one had adjusted the camera’s eye—configured to take in space travel distances that usually ran to hundreds of thousands of kilometers—for close-up viewing.
Now he did, and the gray veil hardened into an angular wall. It dropped back to show a DropShip docking collar and a pair of heavy naval particle cannons guarding the approach. Another level of magnification removed, and the thick-waist profile of a Lyran battle cruiser cut across the planet’s profile.
“The Yggdrasil,” Goran said with an appropriate touch of awe.
Mjolnir-class. Displacing more than 1,200,000 tons, it was one of the valiant Lyran WarShips to survive the Word of Blake Jihad. Thought lost several times over its active life, it was placed in orbit around Hesperus II in 3084, underscoring how important the local factories were to House Steiner, even if Devlin Stone had wanted to pick the world up in his grab for a new Hegemony.
“Never been moved again,” Goran said, as if sensing Jasek’s thoughts. “Some say it can’t be taken out of system. Burned out its KF drive in the last jump it made to arrive
here.”
“You believe that?” Jasek asked. He shifted in his chair, easing tired muscles, and tried to distract himself by counting the weapon bays visible as dimpled shells and long-barreled turrets on the Mjolnir’s side. At least nine naval-class autocannon in its overlapping broadside arcs, he saw. Several particle cannon. And, yep, there were the AR10 launchers. Each one with a set of Killer Whale missiles that could crack the Himmelstor like an egg.
Goran cocked his head in what might have been a shrug, or only a pause to think. “What I believe and what I’m careful about ain’t always the same thing, Landgrave.”
“Good advice,” Jasek decided. “And speaking of being careful, you’d better call Colonel Vandel up here.”
“More mud sloggers cluttering up my bridge for no reason,” the kaptain groused.
“You may be right,” Jasek acknowledged. “The Brewsters have never been enemies of Skye or the Kelswas, after all, and I believe Trillian Steiner will give us an audience and vouchsafe us regardless of the local duke’s attitude.” He shrugged. “But she knows Joss Vandel. And that monster of a ship will be holding position above Hesperus II, which means we have to come back up past it. How careful do you want to be today?”
Goran picked up his all-hands mic and dialed for shipboard announcement, calling Joss Vandel to the bridge.
Jasek was careful not to let the crotchety spacer see his smile.
23
The Emerald Talon
Zenith JumpPoint, Skye System
Republic of the Sphere
24 November 3134
The universe had compacted down to a single pinpoint. A glowing pearl, hovering in Malvina Hazen’s mind’s eye. Cold and bright, it pulsed in time to her heartbeat.
Then the jump was over, and her Nightlord-class WarShip reentered real space at the zenith jump point above the plane of Skye’s solar system. The glowing gem exploded around her in a riot of sound and color, rebuilding the universe in broad strokes around her consciousness. Her body, imperfect but strong once again. The Emerald Talon’s bridge with several dozen crewmen still bent to their prejump tasks, now taking their next breaths and their next thoughts. And outside the large ferroglass wall—the ultimate hubris in locating the main bridge of a WarShip against hard vacuum—a galaxy of bright stars unfolded once again against the dark blanket of space.
“Fleet status!” she ordered at once, turning her bionic eye on Star Admiral Binetti. The cold replacement stared, unblinkingly fixed on the elder man’s back.
Technically, Khan Pryde had put the Jade Falcon flagship under the command of Beckett Malthus. Her blessing on the undertaking, and a way to exude her own measure of contribution to the task of invading The Republic of the Sphere. But like most warriors who now answered to Malvina as if she were the Khan herself, Dolphus Binetti knew how to sail with the solar winds. He bowed respectfully and set to his task.
It took a few seconds of sensor readings being relayed up through the chain of command, but within the moment he said, “Seven emerging JumpShips. Fleet present and accounted for, Galaxy Commander.” He paused. “We also have four JumpShips, two merchant and two military, in holding positions nearby.”
Malvina could care less for the local JumpShip resources. They would run within moments. “Has the local recharge station identified us?”
“They would have to be sensor-blind not to notice our arrival,” the Star admiral assured her.
On an auxiliary monitor, a senior technician brought up an image of the local station. An Olympus, with its tadpole design and the immense solar sail drifting out behind it to capture solar radiation from Skye’s sun and convert it to useful power, stored in helium-cooled superconductor rings and held in reserve to beam-charge JumpShip engines. Such stations were not uncommon, placed at the zenith and sometimes a system’s nadir jump point as well. Most were very old, bordering on ancient, and replacing them was expensive, as the expertise and technology was now limited to very few shipyards within the Inner Sphere.
“Our IR signatures have been visible for several minutes, and the electromagnetic-displacement shocks must be tripping every alarm they have. Not to mention we have just parked the largest WarShip they have ever seen on Skye’s door. They know, Galaxy Commander. They know. And they are already transmitting news of our arrival dirtside.”
“There go the two merchants,” a sensor technician called out. “We have energy blooms in the military vessels as well. KF drives are charged. They stand ready to jump.”
She began to say something, but the Star admiral interrupted her. “Distance checks?” he ordered. “Are we close enough for our own KF drive to get caught in the energy backwash?”
“Neg, Star Admiral. Interference will be negligible.”
Malvina stifled her impulse to lash out at the admiral. His caution had been appropriate, and under time constraints. “They have had long enough,” she decided. “Open a channel to the recharge station.”
The Star admiral nodded her request on to his communications tech. “Gondola Station,” he informed her as the connection was made.
“Gondola Station, this is Malvina Hazen of Clan Jade Falcon. You will surrender unconditionally. You will do so within the next thirty seconds.”
On the auxiliary screen, the image of the recharge station winked out, to be replaced by a whip-thin Republic naval officer fastening the cuffs at his wrists. His reddish orange hair stuck out to the left, still tousled and matted from sleep.
“This is Commodore Billings aboard Gondola. With what forces do you challenge for this station?”
The man sounded almost bored. An insult worse than his attempt at batchall. When the Clans first invaded the Inner Sphere, adopting Clan bidding practices and twisting honor rules had become a commonplace tactic. In effect, the treacherous surats helped the Clans to defeat themselves. Malvina was not quite the student of history that her brother had been, but she knew better than to allow Inner Sphere barbarians any access to such customs.
“If you will look at your primary monitor, you will see what forces I have deployed in challenge. You now have fifteen seconds.”
Perhaps the tired officer’s mind was still bedded down in his shipboard bunk. Perhaps he simply could not believe what Malvina was telling him, even when the truth stared him in the face with open gunports and sensor lock. “I don’t understand. My sensors show no fighter craft deployed. Just . . . the WarShip.” He shook his head. “We have six aerospace fighters standing by on—”
“Five seconds,” Malvina cut him off angrily. This man would never have made it out of a Clan sibko alive. The Republic should take greater care whom they posted to important positions. She was not here to hold his hand and explain her demands as if to a child. She didn’t especially care if he understood or not. She did not need his edification.
She needed an example.
This order did not go to Star Admiral Binetti. Malvina gave it herself, directly to portside gunnery. The man had a hawklike nose and a jutting chin, and a fanatic’s light in his eyes as she told him, “Open fire.”
The command was relayed through secure systems to the weapons bays, with less than three seconds elapsed between her order and the first naval-grade PPC slashing out with cold, ruthless talons to rake critical wounds across the station’s bow. Naval autocannon and a pair of capital-ship Gauss cannon followed, hammering at the Olympus with Thor’s own fury.
On-screen, the commodore’s face twisted itself into a mixture of confusion and fear as his station shook violently.
“Wait,” he pleaded, trying to get back on top of the situation. “We can—”
Malvina reached forward and switched the monitor by her own hand from his cowardly visage to a gun-cam view of Gondola Station. Air frosted out of a half dozen deep wounds, jets of ice crystals streaming into space as the station bled to death. She saw a body tumble out, blown clear in the rapid decompression, arms flailing about for less than ten seconds. Then another body. This one got caught betwe
en the Emerald Talon and Gondola Station, ripped in half by the next naval PPC, which struck the station amidships in its small fighter bay.
More weapons converged over the thick doors, blasting them into ruin and reaching deep within. No aerospace fighters would launch now.
“We have one military vessel jumping,” a sensor tech called out. “There goes the second one as well.”
Running for safety. One or both might simply have jumped for the nadir station, where they would recharge and await orders from Skye. They might just as easily flee for the relative safety of another system altogether, spreading word of the attack.
That also was fine with Malvina Hazen.
Sporadic return fire rose up from the recharge station as a few defiant crewmen struck back with light autocannon and wave after wave of long-range missiles. A few particle cannon joined in, late. These were conventional weapons, with pathetic range compared with capital-ship guns, and even worse damage profiles. They barely scratched the Nightlord’s armored hide.
“Hit them again,” Malvina said calmly. Even though she had never given an order to cease fire, she wanted it clear that she approved of the continuing barrage.
Gunners walked a line of horrific damage from stem to stern, pounding the hapless facility without mercy. As Malvina desired. A few escape pods launched. Some even managed to clear the storm of weapons fire that filled the vacuum between WarShip and station. Nickel-ferrous masses launched by the Emerald Talon’s rail guns snapped off three of the station’s six jumpsail supports, and several square kilometers of solar sail creased and tangled into its own cables. Capital lasers carved deep into the engineering spaces, darkening Gondola’s station-keeping drive.
A few seconds later the flickering power went out for good. The hull-mounted spotlights darkened. No weapons were fired at the attacking WarShip.
There was no further attempt at communication.
Malvina let the assault hammer into Gondola Station for another moment, pounding it into unrecognizable scrap. Finally she nodded. “Enough.”
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