Ghost War mda-1

by Michael A. Stackpole

  I nodded. Learning more about the whole situation did help clarify a lot of things, but brought with it more dread. Before I was just afraid, but now I had really good reasons to be afraid. People who had the skills, will and resources were ready to divide The Republic. Other people were willing to oppose them and, regardless of who won, the damage that would be done to their forces and to The Republic itself would weaken it to the point that when the lions did return, they would scatter the jackals and gorge themselves on the kill.

  I could also see why the leadership was in a quandary about what to do. The Republic had maintained order and guided progress through economic stimulus and education. Those who opposed The Republic could not participate in the prosperity, and those who made The Republic better were vastly rewarded with money and honors.

  That method of ruling required the free and swift flow of information. By cutting that off, the lions had severed the links between worlds. Those who had power locally now assumed more and sought to guarantee it. I was certain some of those people were quite altruistic, but others, like Bannson, clearly were not. Anyone who assumed power and had a distrust of or hatred for The Republic would not return that power without a fight.

  But The Republic had never fought against its own citizens. To do so now would be to unite locals against The Republic. Moreover, landing a force to stop Bannson before he’d done anything would weaken Republic forces. That, clearly, was what the lions wanted. The Republic then, mindful that the lions lurked out there, had to keep one eye on them and one eye on the jackals. As a result, of course, The Republic would get gnawed.

  Whether or not it was gnawed to death was really the question.

  I looked up at Consuela again. “My lady, what is it you desire from us?”

  “We need fresh eyes.” She smiled with a hint of relief. “We have been here in the maelstrom and there are certain assumptions from which we’ve been operating. We don’t know if they are right or not. The two of you, having been away, have a new perspective. Assume nothing, challenge everything and, with luck, you’ll see what we have not.”

  Janella nodded. “And if we’re not lucky?”

  The Countess sighed. “Then the blind shall continue to lead the blind, and into perdition we will go.”

  16

  The two divinest things this world has got:

  A lovely woman in a rural spot!

  —Leigh Hunt

  White Sands Training Ground

  North America, Terra

  Prefecture X, Republic of the Sphere

  10 December 3132

  I drove Ghost to the right, cutting the ’Mech through the contrails of Janella’s long-range missiles. The smoke blinded me for a half second—at least on the vislight level as I looked out through the Mad Cat III’s cockpit. The holographic display was on magres, so the smoke didn’t show up, and I got to follow her missiles as they slammed into the target.

  A dozen and a half of the missiles actually hit, some of them slamming into the steel girder construct housing the data-display sensor. It was projecting into our sensors the image of a Centurion. As the missiles hit the datafield, they detonated, blasting armor from the BattleMech’s image. Sheets of the previously pristine ferro-ceramic armor glittered down in a rain of shards.

  My right hand coaxed the red crosshairs on the holographic display over the Centurion’s outline. The dot at the center pulsed gold, so I hit the trigger. Ghost rocked back a bit as forty LRMs launched from the shoulder missile racks. I let the ’Mech hunch down on its birdlike legs, splaying the arms wide for balance.

  As the ’Mech came back up and continued to the right, dozens of new explosions wracked the simulated Centurion. The right arm went whirling off to vanish in a haze of data dissolution. The left leg buckled at the knee and some of the hatch covers over its missile launcher went sailing off like playing cards tossed into a gale.

  Janella punched Andrea, her Tundra Wolf, forward. Unlike my ’Mech, the Tundra Wolf is humanoid in configuration, though it has no hands. She thrust the right arm forward and four ruby beams of light stabbed out. They clawed through the ’Mech’s left knee, severing it completely. The shin fell left, the knee slammed into the ground and the Centurion plowed turf face-first.

  “Nice shooting!”

  Her voice came back a bit tight, but happy. “Thanks. On the right, coming up. Catapult.”

  “I’ve got it.” I planted the ’Mech’s right foot, digging the clawed toes into the ground, and pivoted. As I brought the ’Mech around, the Catapult resolved itself on my holodisplay. It looked a lot like my Mad Cat III, save it lacked the arms. The forward-thrust cockpit did have two underslung autocannons, and they fired. A second later the shoulder-mounted LRM launchers blossomed fire and smoke.

  While the Catapult was merely a figment of the range-control computer, it was able to project data into my ’Mech and it did so with a vengeance. A glance at my secondary monitor showed armor evaporating over Ghost’s chest and right leg, expanding a hole opened by an earlier tangle with a Panther. The autocannon slugs pounded my right arm and one of my small lasers winked out of existence.

  Worse than all that damage was the computer kicking the gyros out of phase. This left me in a metal machine the size of a small building, moving about thirty kilometers per hour, suddenly out of control. It wasn’t as if I were on ice, but as if I’d been smacked with a twenty-five-ton sledgehammer. Ghost staggered back and sank lower, then the left foot clawed the ground and got a hold, which stopped me from going over backward.

  Janella’s ’Mech sailed right through the space I’d occupied and cut loose with another salvo of LRMs. They streaked in, some corkscrewing down, and pulverized the Catapult’s cockpit. Ferro-titanium supports shattered, the cockpit canopy disintegrated—save for one rounded sheet that popped out intact—and fire shredded the interior. The crumpled nose came up, then the ’Mech fell over backward, with the cockpit burning like the mouth of a volcano.

  Ghost came back up and I surveyed the damage. The ’Mech had weathered the attacks pretty well, with only minor reductions in speed. My targeting capability had been slightly degraded, and I’d lost that one laser, but otherwise the machine was in very good shape.

  The rangemaster’s voice broke into the radio channel. “I’ve got all the data I need right now. You two want to call it quits here, or head into the Valley of Death? Holding others off the range won’t be that difficult.”

  I shook my head as sweat stung my eyes. “Not today, but soon.”

  Janella had turned Andrea to face me. Her ’Mech had been painted gray, with blue highlights on legs and arms. It didn’t have the fierce designs some other Mech Warriors favored, instead retaining the subtle tones that had belonged to the machine since a Wolf Clan warrior had brought it into Republic service nearly fifty years earlier.

  “I’m done, too, thanks. We’re coming back in.” Her voice revealed a bit more weariness when she flicked over to the tactical sideband we’d been sharing. “It was good to get this workout, but I wasn’t focusing.”

  Damn, woman, if you can shoot like that when you’re not focusing… I nodded. “Well, when they have your stats from this run worked up, I think you’ll find you blasted the hell out of everything here. Going back to your taking down my ’Mech on Helen, you have a nice string going.”

  “Dusting that ’Mech on Helen was just varminting.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Sorry, my dear, but it’s true. You were running down an alley, couldn’t maneuver. Had you been standing still you’d not have been a much easier shot.”

  “Given the way I was shooting here, even facing you down I’d not have been much of a challenge.”

  She laughed, and it was good to hear those rich tones enter her voice. “Mason, you’re in a brand-new ’Mech. You’re the first pilot, and this is a new design and that was your shakeout run. We’ve run this course before and you might not have been hitting as you have in the past, but you handled that beast very
well. It’s quite mobile and does have power.”

  She was right. The Mad Cat III–which some wags had designated Miffed Kitty—was a variant on the very successful Mad Cat design from the Clans. Being lighter than its predecessor, it ran faster, which I favored. It did lack some of the punch of the Mad Cat II, but I’ve long been of the school that suggests being able to move and avoid damage is preferable to taking a beating to administer one.

  Janella’s Andrea ran seventy-five tons, which brought the Tundra Wolf up into the heavy class, but the way she could make it move you’d have thought it was an under-armored light ’Mech. Her ability to shoot and judicious use of long-range weaponry meant that she picked her enemies to pieces before they closed. By the time they got to her– if they got to her—their armor was so ragged that a well-placed shot could cripple them.

  “I will admit, my lady, I do like this ’Mech a lot. Next time you come save me, bring it instead of that Black Hawk. And bring Andrea.”

  She sighed. “I wanted to bring Andrea to Helen, but we had no reports of heavy weaponry being deployed. The Centurion was not a bad little machine. Against AgroMechs you don’t need much more.”

  “Provided they don’t start arming them.”

  “Good point, though the modifications needed to get them combat operational will be expensive.”

  I didn’t reply to that comment because I knew where it would take us. On the train down from Santa Fe we’d gone over some of the material we’d been briefed on the previous day. Neither of us had slept well thinking about it all and the commoline between her billet and mine was fairly active, even though we’d agreed to sleep apart so we’d not be keeping each other awake.

  Consuela or Victor, in their wisdom, had scheduled us for a run at White Sands. Because I am a Ghost Knight and keeping my identity a secret is important, I was sent down under an alias, with records that made it look as if I was Janella’s bodyguard. Since she is a Knight, they restricted the range, making it our private playground until whenever we were done. Anyone wondering why would assume it was at her request, and I’d go unnoticed, which is exactly what everyone wanted.

  While allowances are made for Knights off on missions, I was actually two months overdue for my performance evaluation. Janella was more up-to-date, but was close enough to her due date to let her make the run when I did. I also suspected that some folks wanted to see how I would do in the new ’Mech, especially after the way I lost my last one.

  The run was good for more than clerical reasons. White Sands is beautiful in a Spartan sort of way, but then I find deserts fascinating because they are so unlike the forests in which I grew up. The place was completely steeped in history, too, with the first nuclear bomb having been tested at Alamogordo, and I was pretty certain that placing a testing range for BattleMechs here had not been accidental.

  And I knew the creation of the Boneyard definitely had not been.

  I liked to think Stone had ordered it into existence, but I also saw the hand of David Lear in its creation. To the west of the testing center, between it and the San Andres Mountains, a cemetery for broken ’Mechs had been created. They came in every configuration and color scheme, from every House, Clan and mercenary unit I’d ever heard of. Legless ’Mechs rested on their sides or backs. Others stood there with broken arms resting at their feet. On more than one occasion the ’Mech’s battered head lay on the ground or sat askew atop pitted and chipped shoulders.

  Stalking past it I always felt a chill running down my spine. Here, in this place, the most devastating weapon known to mankind had been created. In the shadow of where it had been detonated waited these battered engines of war. Just as mankind had realized using nuclear weapons was folly, so perhaps would we someday learn to eliminate the need for BattleMechs.

  When I’d first come here an old MechWarrior guiding me out to the range taught me a rhyme whose authorship was lost in antiquity. “As you are, so once were we. As we are now, you shall someday be.” Every one of those ’Mechs had been piloted into combat by someone just like me. They’d had the myth of their invincibility proven a lie one day. Some of them lived to profit from the experience, but many more paid a fearsome price for it.

  Looking at them now I realized I still clung to the idea that I was not going down. That was ridiculous, after all, since I’d been shot out of my last two ’Mechs—Maria being an exception. Digger’s going down had been a wild ride, but little more. The other ’Mech, well… I squinted but couldn’t quite see its twisted carcass amid those roasting in the sunlight.

  We guided our ’Mechs into the hangar and crawled out of the cockpits. A tech came over to me with a noteputer and had me sign off on various forms. She smiled at me and I wondered if the clerk who’d fixed my room in Santa Fe was a cousin of hers. “We’ll be getting the name painted on her soon, sir. You sure you want Ghost?”

  I nodded. “That’s it.”

  She frowned for a moment. “Not a good omen. Why would you want it?”

  I shrugged, peeling off my cooling vest in the same motion. “Prince Victor Steiner-Davion’s unit in the Clan war was called the Revenants. Revenants are Ghosts. Maybe some day I’ll be good enough to have been a Revenant.”

  “You pilots.” She shook her head, but her broad smile didn’t die. “You want it, it’s done. I’ll even make sure they do a good job with the painting.”

  “Thanks.” I gave her a nod, then cut along the catwalk to Janella. She finished signing off on her forms and beamed a smile at me. “My score puts me in the ninety-eighth percentile for those tested this year.”

  “Good. My score indicated I have a future in a service industry where if I do anything more than shoot someone a nasty glance I’m overmatched.” I traced a finger along her jaw, then leaned in and kissed her.

  She smiled. “Now that was directly on target.”

  “It was a ranging shot. Should I fire for effect?”

  Janella blushed, then hooked her arm in mine. “First, my dear, we are going to get a lot of water to rehydrate, and some food. Then we are going to shower.”

  “But the showering facilities here are segregated, my dear.”

  “Pity, true.”

  “And if we do that, by the time we’re done…”

  She smiled. “Yes, the train back to Santa Fe will be here. And we’ll have to think of something to do to occupy our time heading back home. This shouldn’t be a problem unless you don’t think you can hit a moving target.”

  “Only one way to find out.” I covered her hand with mine and squeezed. “And if I can’t, I’ll just have to practice.”

  “Indeed, Mason.” Her eyes flashed. “Good thing it’s a long ride.”

  As rides go, it wasn’t long enough. Janella and I managed to find an unoccupied cabin in first class and locked it using certain override codes I knew. Laboring in obscurity as a Ghost Knight is not always fun, but it does occasionally have its perks.

  Our arrival back in Santa Fe had been anticipated. Inside the station we docked our noteputers and got complete updates of news and our schedules. We could have done this at White Sands or even on the train, but having the information would have been a distraction and, as I have learned, when practicing to perfect skills, eliminating distraction is vital. Focus. It’s all about focus.

  Luckily, our superiors did not want us to report for more briefings. I wasn’t certain if this was because they wanted to give us time off, or if they were just too busy sorting wheat from chaff so that we went unnoticed for the moment. Whichever, I was pleased since it looked as if Janella and I would be able to have a quiet dinner together.

  She glanced over at me from her noteputer. “You remember that dinner?”

  “My mouth is watering already.”

  She gave me a quick smile, but it shrank pretty fast. “My parents came in from Zurich. The good news is that they want us both to join them. Kind of a preholiday dinner.”

  The bad news was self-evident, and pretty much ran along the same li
nes: they wanted us to join them. Her father, Thomas, is a Knight and, while not a warrior, his simply requesting we join him and his wife for dinner would have been enough to get our schedules cleared. Andrea, her mother, was a world-class jurist and I liked the both of them. They were very nice people and clearly were proud of their daughter.

  But, they were parents and clearly thought that she, a noble from Fletcher, could do better than some guy who inventoried pine needles for a living. To make matters worse, while her father was happy that I had a job and seemed to enjoy my work, her mother was pretty sure something else was going on. She had a prosecutor’s nose for deception and clearly knew I was hiding something. Janella did a wonderful job of deflecting her mother, but Andrea still came after me—much in the way her namesake ’Mech relentlessly drove in on targets.

  The problem was that despite his being a Knight and their both being proud and honored Republic citizens, neither one of them was cleared to know who I was or what I did. Heck, not even all the Paladins knew the identities of the Ghost Knights. Each might know one or two, and a few a handful, but the secret of our identities were held more tightly than licenses to pilot ’Mechs.

  “Command performance, lover?” I put on my best I-can’t-think-of-anything-I’d-rather-be-doing face. “This time I am going to pay for dinner, and I’ll order a good wine, too—a pre-Christmas present.”

  She kissed me on the cheek. “That will be perfect, yes, my dear. But, don’t worry, I will make it up to you.”

  I smiled. “As long as you’re with me as you were today on the training ground, there’s nothing that will daunt me.”

  17

  Logical consequences are the scarecrows of fools and the beacons of wise men.

  —T. H. Huxley