Prince of Havoc

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Kai came over and shook Victor's hand. "I'm glad to see you here, Victor, but how did you get here? Even a command circuit couldn't have gotten you here from Luthien in response to our message."

  "You're right. I actually got here before any of you." He winced and felt his stomach tighten. "When the Precentor Martial came to me at Komadorishima I was already beginning to be uneasy about my retreat from life. Part of the reason I went there was to get as far away from the trappings of my old life as I could, so I wouldn't be homesick for it. When the Precentor Martial showed up, we had some long talks. Hohiro, you and Kai and I had all wondered about him and whether or not he was grooming one of us as his replacement. We were thinking about it in terms of becoming the point man to deal with the Clans. We were right, he was, but he was looking beyond that."

  Victor felt Focht's hands land on his shoulders. "I was looking for someone to further the spirit of the new ComStar. When we secularized the organization, we came as close as possible to being akin to the old SLDF. We were a force that could be used to intervene in nasty situations—peacekeepers perhaps, but warriors needed to fight when a threat like the Clans arose. With the reformation of the Star League and the recreation of the SLDF, we had parallel organization. I wanted someone with the judgment and skill needed to lead a neutral force and use it to maintain the stability of the Inner Sphere. Any of you three would have been suitable candidates, but only Victor here was free of responsibility."

  Hohiro smiled. "And he was the best choice."

  "Thanks, Hohiro." Victor covered a light cough with his fist. "The Precentor Martial outlined for me his plans for the future and I accepted his offer to replace him. Kai, because you said you'd see to it that a new letter of commendation would be sent to me, we recorded the beginning and end of that message at Komadorishima. The middle, which referred to the text, I recorded in the ComStar compound yesterday. It was all spliced together and played today."

  Omi looked at him. "And the message I sent to you?"

  "Rerouted by ComStar to find me. ComStar also kept me up to speed on breaking events, so I could offer timely comments on doings back on Luthien that you might expect me to know about." The new Precentor Martial looked down for a second. "I didn't want to fool any of you, but I needed to fool my sister."

  "You didn't fool me, Victor." Katherine's whiplash voice brought him around and out from Focht's shadow. His sister, clad in white, stood there, her face crimson with fury. "I know your game, and I won't let you win. What is mine is mine, and you shall never have it."

  Victor's eyes narrowed. "I'm going to say this once, Katherine. Believe it, act upon it. Ignore it at your peril. I am now the Precentor Martial of ComStar. My mission in life is to see to it that the Star League flourishes and does the most it can for all Humanity. As long as you do nothing to interfere with my mission, you and I have no quarrel. If you choose, however, to make your problems my problems, you will not like my solutions to them. Am I making myself clear?"

  "Crystal, Victor." Katherine's nostrils flared. "You have a week to leave my Tharkad, and a month to depart my realm. Don't come back without an invitation." With a flash of golden hair, she spun on her heel and walked off.

  Victor turned back to his friends. "I think, someday, she'll come to a bad end."

  "Better sooner than later." Phelan Kell and his father expanded the circle of people in the middle of the ballroom. "I look forward to dancing on her grave."

  Victor sighed. "There are a few more immediate problems to deal with, however." He turned to Kai. "As SLDF Commander I can't commit troops in defense of St. Ives unless the Council votes for it. I can, however, send units there for exercises, and they would have the right of self defense. Perhaps you can tell me what spots would be good to train at."

  Kai smiled. "You'll have the information you want before you leave Tharkad."

  "Good. Morgan, does the Arc-Royal Defense Cordon need any bolstering?"

  The elder Kell, his thick beard almost entirely white, shook his head. "Not at the moment, but I would be pleased to exchange liaison officers so we can come up with suitable procedures to coordinate activities in the future. We need to prepare for your sister's wrath, not provoke it at this point."

  "True." Victor nodded thoughtfully, then smiled. "Thus ends the era of the Clans. Let us hope the future of the Star League will be bright indeed."

  Bremmerton, Upano

  Arc-Royal Defense Cordon

  Francesca Jenkins paused inside the smoky pub's doorway, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light. The Archon's Mistress, as the pub was called, flickered with candles in red globes on each table, providing navigational beacons that allowed her to thread her way through the crowded common room. She forced herself to look around no more than she assumed her contact would expect. She had hoped to spot Curaitis somewhere in the room, but given the poor light and his ability to blend in almost anywhere when he put his mind to it, she couldn't find him.

  Her target, on the other hand, might as well have been outlined in neon. The man was obese, and not just in the sense that his belly slopped over his belt. He'd managed to wedge himself sideways into a booth, and the fat on his flank rolled onto the table top as if the table were sawing deep into his chest. The man wore a flowing shirt that might once have been white, but rainbow splotches of color decorated it everywhere, The sleeves had been rolled up to mid-forearm, displaying thick-fingered hands that looked tiny because the rest of him was so large.

  He hoisted a mug of beer and drank deeply, then licked his blubbery lips clean, save for a droplet that coursed down through his unshaven stubble to sink into a crevasse marking the first of his many chins. He set the mug down and spotted her, then tried to straighten up while pawing thin strands of blond hair over his shiny pate.

  Francesca paused at the table's edge. "You're the artist known as Valerius?"

  The man bobbed his head and waved her to the bench across from him. "I am. Your message said you were interested in some of my work?"

  "Indeed, I am." Francesca brushed the bench clean of crumbs and slid in across from him. "I recall seeing some of your work on New Exford, about a year ago."

  "Yes, I had pieces in a show there." The man shrugged as if that were no great feat. "New Exford bored me, though. I chose to come here, to Upano. Much more inspirational, this world."

  She looked around and nodded carefully. "I can see that. You're doing lots of work here, then? Inundated with commissions."

  "Oh, of course. Bremmerton may not look it, but there is a high demand for art."

  "I understand that, Valerius." Francesca put an edge into her voice. "I've seen much of your work on the streets. You can hardly tell the hovercars were in an accident, you match paint so well."

  The man's piggish eyes widened. "You insult me, madame. I don't have to listen to this."

  Francesca pressed a heel to the top of one of his feet, pinning it in place. "You're going nowhere, Valerius, and it is time to get things straight between us. First, I know you're Valerie Symons and I know you left New Exford because Reginald Starling wanted to prosecute you for having forged a couple of his paintings. He would have, too, except he found it terribly amusing that you had been able to deceive the buyers. Your forgeries of his work were the best he'd seen and could easily pass for genuine."

  Symons winced, then frowned. "Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?"

  "Could be, or a preface."

  "How about both?"

  "Even better," Francesca gave him a smile. "I have an offer to make you. I'm going to offer you five thousand kroner for each Starling you produce in a new series. The series will consist of studies of the Archon Princess Katrina, but appropriate to a series titled 'Bloody Princess.' You will complete a dozen paintings along the lines I will dictate to you."

  Symons shook his head. "Starling is dead, you know. No one will believe he did these paintings."

  "Oh, but they shall, Val." Francesca smiled. Actually only one person n
eeds to believe, and that's the Archon herself. "I knew Reg Starling and can forge documents in his handwriting that will pass inspection. Moreover, I also know the agent for his estate and I can guarantee he will authenticate the work."

  Symon's brown eyes narrowed. "You'll sell the works for a lot of money. I want a royalty."

  Francesca shook her head. "Royalties for art? We're not playing games here, Symons. Do the job you're asked to do and you will be amply rewarded. If you won't do it, I'll just find someone else who will, and you'll just have to live with knowing you passed up a chance to make money and fool the Inner Sphere's greatest art experts."

  "Fool the art experts, eh?"

  "Yes, the same ones who've claimed your work is pedestrian and derivative."

  "Oh, yes, them." Symons thought for a moment, then tossed off the last of his beer, splashing little tendrils of it back over the tops of his rounded cheeks. "Okay, I'm in. Money up front."

  "Five now, four oh delivery of each of the first five pictures,"

  "Done." Symons began the laborious process of sliding himself out of the booth. "You got a studio, or do I need to find one?"

  "Twenty-seven-forty East Greystone Avenue, second floor." Francesca suppressed a smile when Symons winced. "Be there tomorrow morning at ten. Everything you'll need will be there, including your money. We want your best work."

  "You'll get it."

  "Good. You're going to be fooling people in very high places."

  "Don't worry." Symons patted himself on the chest. "When they see these, they'll be thinking Reg Starling is alive and well."

  "That's exactly what we want, Mr. Symons." Francesca smiled broadly. "Exactly what we want."

  Royal Court, The Triad

  Tharkad City, Tharkad

  15 December 3061

  The man calling himself Harrison Harding nodded his thanks to the Archon Princess as he settled into the chair opposite the white leather couch in her office. On the table between them lay a coffee service and two cups. She reached out to pour, but he held a hand over the mouth of his cup. "No, thank you."

  "Don't trust me, Mr. Harding?"

  The man smiled. "I prefer to avoid caffeine and I know that you hate coffee, so I'd not have you feel obliged to join me."

  Katrina sat back on the couch and drew her legs up beside her. "Not many know that about me. You discovered this how?"

  "Research."

  "For a job?"

  "Personal interest. Had you been the object of an assignment, we'd not be having this conversation." He reached out and snagged a little biscuit from the small plate on the silver platter. "Almond."

  Katrina smiled. "To cover the scent of cyanide."

  "Quaint idea." He bit a piece off the biscuit, chewed and swallowed. "Good, but not poisoned."

  "Are you certain?"

  "Quite. If you wanted me dead you wouldn't have invited me here, and you'd not do the job yourself with sweets. First, you couldn't be certain that I'd succumb without a struggle. It wouldn't take much for me to shatter a saucer and slit your throat with a fragment of your grandmother's china."

  Katrina's hand rose to cover her throat. "And the other reason you would cite?"

  He smiled. "You'd put me on trial for your mother's murder and have me confess that your brother hired me."

  Katrina nodded. "Very good. You impress me as much as your work. Ryan Steiner was yours, and your escape was brilliant. And then killing a whole government on Zurich, that was inspired."

  "You are too kind."

  "Hardly." Her blue eyes narrowed. "You've been idle since then."

  "You may believe that if you wish, it matters not to me. Suffice it to say the money paid to me for your mother's death was enough to allow me to occupy my time in any way I wished." He nibbled more of the biscuit. "I chose to answer your summons because I found our previous work together very rewarding and quite the challenge. No one remembers Ryan's death, or the fall of the government on Zurich, but your mother's death, that they will never forget."

  Katrina nodded slowly. "This one they won't forget either. I'm sure you've heard of my brother's new position. He chose to join ComStar specifically to humiliate me and deny me my rightful place as the First Lord of the Star League. Then he made me a laughingstock here on Tharkad and throughout the Inner Sphere last month. No one does that to me—no one—and gets away with it. He will pay."

  "Undoubtedly." The man brushed crumbs from his pant leg. "But will you?"

  "Forty million kroner."

  It took some effort to maintain his composure. That was the most he'd ever been paid and double what Melissa's death had gotten him. "Interesting offer, but times have changed. Sixty."

  "Fifty-five and you stop bargaining now." Katrina snaked a manila envelope from beneath the silver service and extended it to him. "Do we have a deal?"

  "The money is right, Archon." He opened the envelope, pulled out a static holograph, glanced at it and smiled. "And the job doable."

  "Excellent." Katrina's voice became as cold as her eyes. "Victor will pay."

  "Indeed he shall, Archon." The man slipped the holograph back into the envelope. "As per your wish, Omi Kurita will die."

  About the Author

  Michael A. Stackpole, who has written more than twenty novels and numerous short stories and articles, is one of Roc Books' bestselling authors. Among his BattleTech® books are the Blood of Kerensky trilogy and the Warrior trilogy, both of which have been republished by popular demand. Other Stackpole novels, Natural Selection, Assumption of Risk, Bred for War, Malicious Intent, and Grave Covenant, also set in the BattleTech® universe, continue his chronicles of the turmoil in the Inner Sphere.

  Michael A. Stackpole is also the author of Wolf and Raven, a braided novel set in the Shadowrun® universe. His other books include Dementia, the third volume in Roc's mutant series, and Once a Hero, an epic fantasy. The Bacta War, the last of Stackpole's four Star Wars® X-wing® novels, was recently published.

  In addition to writing, Stackpole is an innovative game designer. A number of his designs have won awards, and in 1994 he was inducted into the Academy of Gaming Arts and Design's Hall of Fame.