Andrew smiled. The gauzy fabric resembled mosquito netting, but he knew, from similarly equipped—though scarcely as luxurious—berths aboard military DropShips, that the netting would keep the bed’s occupant from floating away while asleep. If the ship lost gravity, a simple catch would release and shoot the netting over the open side of the bed. Electromagnets would secure the netting to keep the passenger from drifting away from bed. It would be a rude awakening, Andrew supposed, to float away from the bed and then suddenly to have gravity return.
Andrew turned back to the living room and flopped down on a couch. He laughed. “Yes, Colonel Sortek, I think I’ll enjoy this trip.”
Melissa scowled as the porter dropped her bags inside the door. She smiled at him but got no response until she pressed a kroner imprinted with her mother’s profile into his moist palm. The porter frowned and withdrew as though afraid of catching a disease. The hatch squeaked as he pulled it shut.
“Great!” Melissa shook her head and surveyed the wood-paneled room. She reached out and tapped a finger against the paneling. “Plastic with pseudocellulose veneer.” She stalked across the cabin, which took three short strides, and poked the sofa facing the entrance. “Folds out into a bed—manually.”
She folded her arms across her chest and sat down hard on the sofa. The cabin, which she guessed was twice as wide as it was deep, reminded her of nothing so much as the barracks she’d heard about on some of the less civilized worlds in the Commonwealth. The room’s furnishings were serviceable, and certainly more than Joana Barker had ever owned. It was obvious, however, that they had been moved to this lower deck from the true luxury decks because of their slightly worn condition. The holovision monitor, bracketed to a table next to the hatchway to the cleaner she shared with the cabin inboard from hers, had a minute screen.
Melissa felt the slight vibration of the launch rockets as the crew began the ignition sequence. Lights dimmed as the engines sucked power from the system, and suddenly a great emptiness opened up in Melissa. A lump rose in her throat and her lower lip quivered. Tears washed the room out of focus.
Stop it! Melissa slammed her balled right fist down on her thigh. Joana Barker would not be crying right now. This is her “great adventure.”
She shook her head, then massaged her leg. But I’m not Joana Barker. I’m Melissa Arthur Steiner, Archon-Designate. I don’t have to live in a rathole. I deserve better.
From somewhere deep in her mind, a sinister voice stirred her most hidden fears. Deserve? Deserve, little princess? Deserving means you’ve earned something. What have you earned, child of plenty? Harsh laughter seemed to echo through her soul. Here, Melissa Arthur Steiner, you will begin to earn what you so arrogantly believe that you deserve. See how your people live. Endure the same indignities to spirit and body. Then, and only then, will you begin to deserve.
“So, Leftenant Redburn, that’s the basic layout of the Silver Eagle.” Captain Stefan von Breunig pointed to the illuminated chart at the back of the cockpit-style bridge. “We differ from other Monarch-class ships because we ripped out two cargo bays and added more passenger decks. We carry three hundred and fifty passengers, more or less, and have expanded all facilities to handle that increased population.”
Andrew nodded and tapped the image of the large dining facility in the center of the wall chart. “I notice you have one dining facility. I thought the Monarch split dining up by passenger class.”
Von Breunig laughed and raked a hand through his short, white-blond hair. “When Monopole refitted the Silver Eagle, they decided to do away with class distinctions. The dining room bridges two decks.” He pointed to the thicker bulkheads and hatches indicated on the chart by wide lines. “Though it’s in the center of the ship, we’ve reinforced it against disaster. We’ve found that the ordinary passengers enjoy a chance to catch a glimpse of celebrities like yourself.” The captain pointed to a smaller area on the deck where Andrew’s suite was located. “Though the Silver Eagle is egalitarian in its facilities, which saves costly duplication, we do have a private area for dining and recreation if you wish to escape the steerage passengers.”
Andrew looked shocked, then laughed. “Captain, if my government were not covering my bills, I’d be down in steerage myself. In fact, as I told the purser earlier, I expect to get tossed into the general population at meals.” Andrew shrugged. “After all, why would I want to be stuck rubbing elbows with folks who’d have nothing to do with me if I were paying my own freight?”
Captain von Breunig smiled warmly and offered Andrew his hand. “Once again, Leftenant, let me heartily welcome you aboard the Silver Eagle.”
Chapter 35
SOLARIS VII
RAHNESHIRE
LYRAN COMMONWEALTH
5 MAY 3027
Justin shook his head. “He’s lying, Gray.”
The Capellan translator’s head jerked around to stare at the MechWarrior. Justin had slipped into the Cathay tenement through an open window in the rear. He kept his hands in the pockets of his gray canvas jacket, and nodded to the elder Capellan seated between the translator and Gray Noton. “The old man says he does remember where the ammo shipment was hidden.”
Noton reached out and grabbed the translator’s tunic. “Going to come back and sell me the information later, Shih?” Noton shoved him back into his chair, which then tottered over and smashed the man flat on the floor. “Justin, tell the old man I’ll give him fifteen thousand C-bills if he’ll tell me where his unit stashed the ammo, and another fifteen thousand if the information is confirmed by the discovery.”
Justin walked over to the old man and knelt at his feet. He smiled warmly at the elder Capellan and bowed his head. Slowly, lyrically, he translated what Gray had offered.
The older man, the last surviving veteran of an ill-fated Liao offensive against House Marik half a century before, considered the offer, then nodded. Carefully and precisely, he explained to Justin the exact location of the weapons cache. As his recall continued, he added information about the booby traps his people had organized before they were shipped off planet. Whenever the older man paused to remember, Justin translated faithfully for Noton.
Satisfied, Noton stood and gave the old man a silver wager ticket. Justin frowned, but Noton shook his head. “The bet was placed on your last fight, Justin. You won, remember?”
Justin’s face closed. Won the fight, perhaps, but lost as well. He nodded slowly. “So I did.” He turned and stared at the Capellan translator. “If you harass this man, if anyone steals his money, I’ll come after you myself with Yen-Lo-Wang.”
“Wo-dong. I understand.”
Justin jerked his head to the side. The translator scrambled to his feet and left the dilapidated apartment. Noton and Justin bowed reverently to the old man, who spoke once more as they slipped out the door. Justin replied to him, then joined Noton in the darkened hallway.
“What did he say, Justin?” Noton flattened himself against the cracked, plaster wall as three small children ran screaming through the corridor.
Justin smiled as he sidestepped the children. “He invited us back again whenever you felt even more generous.”
“And you replied?”
“I told him ‘Large in the purse is not soft in the head.’”
Noton laughed. The two men left the tenement and walked back down the cobbled back street to where Noton had parked the Typhoon. Two young tongsmen moved away from the car and nodded to Justin. Noton dug into his pocket to pay the boys for watching his aircar, but Justin’s steel hand pressed on his arm to stop him.
“Don’t, Gray. They watched it because of Yen-Lo-Wang and the respect we showed the old man.” Justin returned the tongsmen’s salutes. “Money would cheapen you in their eyes.”
Noton said nothing until they had both entered the vehicle and the gull-wing doors had locked down in position. “You know much about the Capellan ways, but it can’t all be blood. I’m half-Marik, half-Steiner, but I know virtually not
hing about Marik customs.”
Justin settled back against the Typhoon’s plush seat. “I left the Confederation with my father when I was five, but I already spoke both English and Capellan without accent. Though my parents had divorced, my Capellan grandparents still considered me a member of their family. I visited them on two occasions—both times when my father had to attend a conference. Ever since graduating from Sakhara, I’ve been posted on the Liao frontier. There’ve been plenty of chances to brush up on my skills.”
Noton nodded thoughtfully. “Listen, Justin, you know I work as an information broker.” Noton jerked a thumb back toward the old man’s home. “Finding someone who knows about a cache of lostech is pure luck. Most of the other stuff I do is headwork that requires putting together deals, and usually calls for a lot of organizational skill. It’s the kind of thing I know you’d be good at, too.”
Justin nodded slightly, but said nothing.
“You must have concluded by now that I have ties into the intelligence networks on this planet. They’re all here—Maskirovka, LIC, ISF, and MIIO.” Noton laughed. “I think even Marik’s SAFE maintains a presence here, though the last contingent split and killed itself off during their last civil war.”
Noton turned to look at Justin. “I make a very good living doing what I do, and I could use someone with your talents to coordinate matters for me.” Noton steered the Typhoon into the underground garage of the building where he maintained an office. “I’d like you to consider becoming my partner.”
Both men swung from the vehicle, and Noton waved Justin toward the escalator up to the street level. There, he produced a magkey and opened the back door. Justin preceded Noton into the dark room crowded with cabinets and shelves. The only open space, a doorway in the wall opposite the exit, led to Noton’s office.
Justin followed Noton into the office and sank into a chair upon a gesture from the larger man. “What would you want of me?” he asked finally.
Noton sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “I’d not ask you to betray your father…”
Justin spat on the floor. “To hell with my father, and the whole Federated Suns. What sort of father would put a whore in his own son’s bed to spy on him?”
Noton nodded. “Good,” he said, unable to keep the pleasure from showing on his face. “Quite simply, Justin, this is the way things shape up. Marik, Liao, and Kurita will pay devilishly well for information concerning Steiner or Davion. In addition, elements within Steiner and Davion will also pay good money for information about themselves.”
Just frowned. “You mean Michael Hasek-Davion wants information about Hanse?”
Noton smiled. “Not inconceivable, but that was not exactly what I had in mind. Elements in Steiner are working on other elements in Steiner.” He turned and pulled a file from a stack on his desk. “In January, Baron Enrico Lestrade asked me to bid on the diversion of a DropShip from its intended course. The same night you first fought here, back in February, he paid me the first installment, and I sent preliminary information to the people I needed to alert.”
Noton flipped the file open. “Less than a week ago, I received an itinerary from Lestrade. Fool that he is, he also included the passenger list. In any event, I have relayed the information to my people to be ready near Fomalhaut to take the ship. They will capture whoever it is that Lestrade’s people—meaning Duke Frederick Steiner and Duke Aldo Lestrade—want, and the dukes will make their play for power at that point.”
Justin nodded slowly. “It seems like a neat package to me. Gray. I can see what you mean about organization, too. What do you make on a deal like this?”
Noton laughed. “Normally, I’d clear a hundred thousand C-bills, but Lestrade paid me in a wager ticket on Fuh Teng’s fight against Billy Wolfson.” The information broker frowned. “You cost me a great deal of money, Justin, but I’m not one to hold a grudge.”
Justin smiled and lied at the same time. “Neither am I.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you just demand more from Lestrade?”
Noton shook his head. “Not good for business. However, he’s more than made up for it. The passenger list is worth at least that much to other customers.”
Justin held out his hand out to take the folder, while Noton continued to speak. “I’ve been asked to discover information about others, from time to time, and a name or two appear on that list. My people will deliver the ship to whoever pays the most for it, and I’m the one who’ll decide who the buyer’s to be. Once that list circulates, the bidding war should start.”
Justin nodded, then started as he read the name Leftenant Andrew Redburn on the list. The MechWarrior grinned easily. “Hmmm. I can see a few folks here who would be worth some nice ransoms.”
Noton nodded. “So I told Lestrade even before seeing the list. His people balked at the fee, which exceeded his budget.”
Justin stood and stretched. He took a second look at the passenger list, then closed the folder and handed it back to Noton. “And so, have others bought in?”
Noton glanced at his chronometer. “Well, Tsen Shang will be here in a hour. He’ll offer ten grand, but I’ll get him up to twenty-five. Later I’ll nail him on the ship’s location.” He smiled up at Justin. “What do you think? Are we partners?”
Justin smiled and gave Noton his good hand. “Till death do us part.”
Chapter 36
NEW AVALON
CRUCIS MARCH
FEDERATED SUNS
5 MAY 3027
Hanse Davion looked up as Quintus Allard entered the office. The minister glanced at the other man in the room, hesitated, then set a holodisc down on a table. “Forgive me, my Prince, I did not realize you were occupied.”
The Prince stood and came out from behind his desk. “Not at all. Have you two met? Quintus Allard, Count of Kestrel and Minister of Intelligence Information and Operations, this is Baron Robere Gruizot. He’s been sent by Duke Michael to ensure closer coordination of efforts between the Capellan March and the rest of the Federated Suns.”
Quintus Allard had to force a smile as he shook hands with the noble from New Syrtis. Hanse saw it and understood, for it was truly difficult to look at Gruizot. Swarthiness and corpulence were often a problem of genetics, but this unkempt man’s lack of personal hygiene was enough to make the Prince wish for Count Vitios in his place.
The baron, his hand free of social duties, picked his teeth. “Pleased to meet you, Quintus. I’ve heard much about you. Made sure I had my Kentares flu shots before I started out from home.”
“So I gathered from your file.” Quintus recovered the disc and stooped down before the Prince’s playback unit. As Quintus straightened up slowly after loading the holodisc, Hanse thought he looked gray and haggard.
“How bad is it, Quintus?”
Quintus shook his head. “Things begin to unravel, my Prince.” He moved to the chair that Hanse indicated for him, but swung it around for a view of both the holovid monitor and the Prince.
“Should I be leaving?” the baron asked reluctantly.
Hanse Davion frowned. “Why would you leave? I have no secrets from Michael. You, as his representative, are due the same courtesy. We are, after all, nobles of the Federated Suns.” The Prince pointed Gruizot to another chair, where the baron seated himself like an obedient child. “Please, Quintus, continue with your briefing.”
“Let me take it from the top.” Quintus said wearily, and it almost seemed to Hanse that the man had deflated some.
“On 20 April, Justin Xiang killed Billy Wolfson in a challenge match. After that match, Justin made a statement. It took twenty days for it to get here.” Quintus punched a button on the holovid deck’s remote control. “Brace yourself, Your Highness. This isn’t pretty.”
Justin, sweaty and still clad in cooling vest, stared out from the holoviewer’s screen. The announcer’s voice finished a question, and Justin smiled coldly. “What do I think of my opponents? I think Billy Wolfson is a prime specimen
of the caliber of all Federats. He was a short-sighted bigot who assumed, naturally, that his racial stock was superior to my mixed blood. He forgot that I had defeated him easily before. Or else he blamed that and my other victories on trickery. He could not admit that I was the superior MechWarrior, and that is what cost him his life.”
The announcer’s voice interjected. “But what about the Fed contingent’s dominance of the fights here, especially in the Open Class?”
Justin snorted derisively. “I know what you really mean to ask. Your real question is what do I think of Philip Capet?” He laughed humorlessly to cut off the announcer’s weak denial. “Well, I’ll tell you. Philip Capet is the perfect ape of Prince Hanse Davion. Davion is a coward who sends surrogates to do what he is not man enough to do himself. He plans campaigns, like the Galtor debacle, to kill valiant men, then conveniently forgets so that even more men die because of his inattentiveness. And that is just how Capet killed both Billy Wolfson and Peter Armstrong. He taught them what he believed it is to be a man, but did not remind them that the rules were different when they faced off with me.”
“What do you mean, Justin?”
Justin’s face hardened into a granite mask. “He told them that real men fight without enabling their ejection seats. He maintains that anyone who can punch out of a ’Mech will leave too early. He taught that to earnest young soldiers and got them killed in war. Likewise, he has preached that to MechWarriors, here, and they have died trying to conform to his idea of manhood. Yes, Capet and his master, Hanse Davion, are fearful men hiding behind anyone who will execute their orders—and the consequences be damned.”
Quintus hit a button and the screen went black. Hanse Davion sat back in his chair. His steepled fingers masked the expression on his face, but nothing could conceal the fury in his eyes. Gruizot sputtered irate nonsense and glanced from the screen to Hanse and back again.
Warrior: En Garde (The Warrior Trilogy, Book One): BattleTech Legends, #57 Page 26