Michael nodded, secretly exulting in the weight of his long, black braid against his spine. Poor Count Vitios. A man as slight as you is poorly endowed to endure travel at much more than 1 G, but I wish to arrive early. Besides, the exercise will put some tone into your muscles. "Indeed, I did."
Vitios sank gratefully into the deeply cushioned chair that Duke Michael indicated. "How may I be of service, Lord?"
The small man's embarrassment at his weakness flashed over his pinched face while Michael clasped his hands behind his back and effortlessly paced before the viewport. "I wish to reassure myself that you will do nothing foolish on Terra."
The Count froze for half a second, then forced a smile. "Duke Michael, whatever do you mean?"
Michael returned the smile with a crafty one of his own. "Anton, I know you too well not to realize that you must have some sort of contingency plan for this opportunity. I know, though it has been a dozen years since the battle on Verio, that you still mourn your wife and children." Michael lifted his hand with palm out to forestall the Count's reply. "No one thinks you less a man for such open devotion, and many admire you for it."
Michael turned his back to his visitor and watched the Drop-Ships crawl along at a snail’s-pace in their path toward Terra. "I watched the holovids of Justin Allard's trial and saw how your prosecution revealed him to be the Liao agent he has so openly become of late. Yet your desire for revenge still runs deep and hot. This is good."
"I would do nothing to embarrass you, My Lord."
Smiling, Michael turned again toward the Count. "I know that, but I would not wish to see you caught foolishly in some situation that could hurt your crusade."
The Count frowned. "I understand very well, Duke Michael, the ComStar directive instructing no one to carry weaponry of any sort to the wedding. ComStar will screen all baggage and personnel before anyone or anything can leave the Savannah Spaceport quarantine area, and again before they enter the compound. Though I am not invited to the wedding and will stay in Savannah with the rest of the household staff, I have no intention of trying to smuggle in a weapon."
Michael nodded curtly. "And well that you do not. ComStar has made it no secret that they will interdict the flow of messages to and from any House violating the wedding's security. An interdiction would leave one deaf and blind."
Count Vitios narrowed his eyes. "I would guess, then, My Lord, that you mean to speak to me about another subject?"
Michael smiled. "Liao agents have brought me an offer of support against Hanse Davion."
"Those God-cursed bastards!" The Count's jaw muscles bunched as he ground his teeth. "I hope you told them to go to hell!"
Before replying, Michael straightened himself up to full height. "As a matter of fact, I told them that the offer was most tempting."
The Count sank back speechlessly into the blue chair's deep padding. His jaw hung open as he stared at Michael in disbelief.
The Duke watched him with a smile. You, my bulldog, will have value in defending me only if you can see my true plan.
Michael turned away from his subordinate to again study the view of the many ships heading toward Terra. "Consider, Anton, what this marriage means in military and political terms to the Successor States. Hanse has promised me that he will reinforce the Capellan March with troops from the Draconis march as soon as this year's Galahad exercises are over. He feels that the Draconis Combine will not be as much of a threat after the marriage to a Steiner because the alliance guarantees that the Dragon will have to fight a two-front war anytime he decides to be aggressive."
A nervous tremor rippled through the Count's voice. "That seems sensible, Highness. But it sounds as though you do not believe the Prince will keep his word."
Michael nodded thoughtfully. "Your observation is correct, but I have developed this belief without assigning malice to my brother-in-law. I believe he will not get the opportunity."
"I don't know that I follow you, My Lord."
Michael pointed to some of the ships racing toward Terra. "There they are, Anton—the leaders of the Successor States. Lord Takashi Kurita is too wise to let himself be boxed in. Maximilian Liao still dreams of being the First Lord of a new Star League, and Janos Marik has no love for either House Steiner or House Davion. There can be no doubt that those three consider the strengthening of the alliance between Davion and Steiner to be a serious threat."
"If you will forgive me, Duke Michael, that conclusion is obvious. But surely they will not strike at the wedding."
Michael shook his head slowly, letting his braid rustle the silken fabric of his dark tunic. "No, Anton, they would never do that—for the same reasons you have already enumerated. I also daresay that they will not strike immediately after the wedding, either, because Hanse has gathered his troops in and around the Terran Corridor for Galahad '28." Michael sat down to face the Count, but his eyes had a faraway look, as though contemplating a distant future image. "Now that would be a battle for all time, would it not?" he said finally. "The best of Kurita, Liao, and Davion battling it out on a dozen worlds—with Hanse Davion trapped on Terra all the while . . ."
The Count chuckled. "In such a situation, you would have to take temporary control of the government and lead the Federated Suns to victory."
The Duke's smile dried as he pressed his lips into a thin line. "True, but I fear it is an opportunity that will never come. From what I can learn, it appears that Kurita and Liao will take a more conservative approach. They will wait until the Terran Corridor is once again down to normal strength before striking. Liao will likely bear the brunt of the assault, while Kurita forces will attempt to hold the Steiner border. And if House Marik can crush the little revolutions that Hanse has been financing within their realm, then Janos will strike out at the Steiner border. Thus will Steiner have to ease up on Kurita or else lose worlds to Marik."
The Count tapped his pointy chin with the index finger of his right hand. "For Liao to mount a strong offensive against the Terran Corridor, he'd have to strip troops from the St. Ives and Sian Commonalities. That would leave the way clear for you to attack..."
Michael smiled and stretched with feline grace. "Indeed. And that explains the communications I have received from Liao. His inducements to betray Hanse are both intriguing and inviting."
The Count drew in a breath to power a protest, then stopped before the words could form. His jaw closed slowly as a smile lit his face "You will accept Liao's offers so that he can move his troops to the front, and then you will hit him after he has engaged Hanse's troops."
Michael's eyes flashed fire. "Exactly! I will provide Max Liao with details of Hanse's troop placements—and even overvalue them so that Liao will tie up even more troops than necessary in his assaults. I will likewise undervalue my own troop strength so that Liao will not sense the dagger pressed against his belly."
The Count's white teeth showed in a feral grin. "And when the time comes ..."
"And when the time comes, I will eviscerate the Capellan Confederation and be hailed a hero in the Federated Suns. A popular groundswell of support will elevate me to become supreme ruler of the Federated Capellan Empire!"
The Count slapped his hands, and then rubbed them together greedily. "I will gladly serve as an instrument of your victory, Highness. With your permission, I would ask only one thing."
Michael raised a dark eyebrow. "Yes, Anton?"
"When you take Sian, give Justin Xiang to me. He escaped justice last time through Davion's intercession. This time, I would like to see that he gets it."
Duke Michael Hasek-Davion nodded his agreement. "It would be my pleasure, Count Vitios." And wherever you leave off in your treatment of Xiang, that is where I will begin to exact my revenge upon Hanse Davion . . .
25
ComStar First Circuit Compound
Hilton Head Island, North America, Terra
17 August 3028
Captain Daniel Lord Allard nodded his head at the plump, blond Bar
oness de Gambier, but the frozen smile on his face felt as though it would never come unstuck. Blake's Blood! How did Felicity get invited here ? While she was making her way toward him through the crowd gathered in the spacious ballroom antechamber, Dan wordlessly communicated his panic to Colonel Morgan Kell.
"Before we left for the wedding, I meant to ask you, Captain how you envisioned the rechanneling of fusion power within a 'Mech engine to maximize cooling . . ." Morgan's voice carried loudly enough to deflect the Baroness from her course toward Dan into a more solicitous grouping. Morgan laughed with a little shake of the head. "She'll be back, you know."
Dan rolled his eyes. "Our grandfathers served in the same 'Mech unit ages ago. Her brother Jacques and I were good friends at NAMA. During our off time from some cadre training operation on Gambier, he took me to visit his family." Dan tugged at his dress uniform's stiff collar. "Gambier is only four jumps from Kestrel, so whenever I went to Kestrel to see my grandparents, I found Felicity already ensconced in the house 'by coincidence.' "
"I've seen the look in her eyes before, Dan. In the way that woman with Morgan Hasek-Davion looks at him, for instance. It doesn't bode well for your continued freedom."
Dan grimaced. "Maybe our next contract will take us beyond the Periphery."
Something flashed in Morgan's eyes, as though Dan had touched him in a dark and painful place, but it vanished just as quickly. "Perhaps, Dan. Perhaps." Morgan's smile broadened at the sight of the heavy-set black-haired man approaching them now. Thrusting out a hand, Morgan greeted the newcomer heartily. "Scott Bradley! It's been far too long."
Bradley returned the smile, but a nervous tremor in his lower lip betrayed his unease. "That it has, Morgan. I'm glad to see you looking fit." Bradley freed his hand from Morgan's and offered it to Dan. "Captain Allard, glad to see you again."
So, even the prodigals return. Dan met Bradley's firm grip with one of his own, pumping the man's arm strongly. "How have you been, Scott?" Dan's gaze brushed over the rank insignia on Bradley's dark green uniform. "You're a Major now . . ."
Bradley nodded somewhat sheepishly. "Yeah, I've got my own battalion." The man looked at Morgan, and Dan could read the anguish on Bradley's face. "I waited, Morgan, just as you asked me to. I gathered a whole group of Mech Warriors around me—really good people." Bradley winced. "They kept after me to leave McGee's Cutthroats and to form our own mercenary group. After so many years of waiting, Morgan, I didn't know what to think."
Morgan smiled and rested both hands on Bradley's shoulders. "Scott, you did what you had to do. You accepted responsibility for a vast number of people and that's something to be proud of."
Bradley nodded. "I am proud of the battalion."
Morgan gave the other man's shoulders a shake before releasing him. "And I'm proud of you for taking the action you did. You've proved yourself to be even more of a natural leader than before. To have a group of mercenaries urge you to form your own unit indicates a special level of trust in your abilities that few leaders ever inspire in their people."
Relief flooded Bradley's face and body. The nervous quivering of his lip had ceased and new confidence seeped into his voice. "I've got a one-year contract with the Federated Suns. We've pulled garrison duty on Northwind, to begin right after the wedding, while some of the regular troops are involved in Galahad '28. After that, I was hoping that you might take Bradley's Bravos on as a battalion in the Kell Hounds . . ."
"The Kell Hounds would be pleased to have you, Scott." Glancing at Dan with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he added, "In fact, if you wish, you may designate Bradley's Bravos the Kell Hound Third 'Mech Battalion. We'll formalize things when your contract is up with the Federated Suns."
Bradley stepped back, saluted, then enfolded Morgan's right hand in his own fist. "I took a straw poll among the battalion's MechWarriors and they favored joining up with the Hounds. With your permission, I'll toss the Kell Hound crest on our standard and add it to our 'Mechs."
"Done, Major Bradley." Morgan shook Scott's hand firmly. "You were sorely missed."
Before anything further could pass between the two men, a wave of applause began near the doorway, then proceeded to grow as the rest of the crowd joined in. The three MechWarriors added their own applause to the swelling sound as Melissa Arthur Steiner, radiant in a sleeveless, shimmering golden gown that matched her hair, entered the room flanked by Katrina Steiner and Hanse Davion. The Archon-Designate gracefully bowed her head in acknowledgement of the ovation, then allowed her fiance to lead her down the stairs. Behind them, the Archon followed proudly.
Dan felt Morgan's hand on his shoulder. "Shall we head over to the receiving line?"
Dan shook his head. "No, Colonel, you and Scott go ahead." He glanced at other people passing through the doorway. "My parents have just arrived and I should speak with them. Besides," Dan said as he saw the Baroness de Gambier waiting to ambush him where the line was forming, "I hate standing in line."
While picking his way through the crowd toward his parents, Dan was amused to note several gatherings of retired MechWarriors holding court as well as more than one clutch of matchmaking dowager noblewomen. Though half-tempted to join a Kurita officer's discussion about the superiority of regular troops over mercenaries, Dan continued on through clouds of noxious cigar smoke and competing perfumes until he reached the elder Allards.
Quintus Allard took his son's hand, then drew him into a firm, back-slapping hug. "Dammit, Dan, you look good."
Dan laughed. "So do you, father." Stepping back, he appraised his father's double-breasted gray suit with approval. "New suit?"
Quintus nodded, smiling broadly. "Got it for the wedding."
"Looks very good, very chic. Mother must have picked it out for you," Dan said teasingly, as he turned to gather up his mother in a hug. "Good to see you, mother." He released her with a smile and found just as much to admire in his mother's appearance. Though fifty years old, her trim figure and bright green eyes be lied her age, as did her thick, straw-blond hair. The green, sleeveless gown she wore was anything but matronly, but the matching short jacket added just the right touch of respectability.
Tamara Kearny Allard smoothed out the black wolf’s-head design on Dan's jacket, letting her fingers linger on the Dragon-slayers ribbon at his left shoulder. Then she snatched back her hand and covered her mouth. "I'm sorry, Dan, your shoulder..."
The MechWarrior shook his head. "No blood, no report." He winked at his mother, summoning the smile back to her face. "I'm fine, mother. Really. It healed ages ago." He had turned now to his sister. "Hello, Riva. How's my baby sister?"
Riva wrinkled her pert nose and hugged her brother. "You're baby sister just got accepted into the NAIS Ph.D. program."
Dan laughed and hugged her even tighter. "That's great, Rat."
Riva pulled back and thrust a finger at Dan. "You promised never to call me that again, Daniel." The anger flashing in her cerulean eyes glinted like the lights off her blue silk gown. Dan stepped back slightly and forced himself to see the woman his sister had become. Though she still wore her black hair in a short gamin cut and her eyes had never lost their combative fire, her tomboy days were surely gone forever.
He bowed his head with great dignity. "I apologize, Riva." Her face brightened again, and the two smiled at one another with much affection. "So, what will you study for your doctorate?"
Riva hesitated, flicking a worried glance at her father, then looked down. "Neural-cybernetic interfaces with an emphasis on cybernetically aided regeneration."
Dan forced a smile. For Justin. Right, Riva? He nodded and tried to put more life into his smile. "I'm sure such work will help many people."
Quintus looked at his son. "We were pleased to get the communication from the Mac that you were aboard and would be attending the wedding, but the Prince thought Colonel Kell would have Major Ward with him."
Dan nodded. "Salome caught a virus a couple of days before we left, and used it as an exc
use to stay on Arc-Royal. I had the feeling she didn't want to attend the wedding because she's working hard to get the First 'Mech battalion into shape. She and Conn O'Bannon have a fierce competition going between them. It won't really matter which battalion—First or Second—is best because they'll both be hell on wheels."
Scattered applause turned Dan once more toward the door. It was for Duke Michael Hasek-Davion and his wife Marie, a most unlikely looking pair. Michael stood straight and slender, yet so full of energy that he seemed taller and his deep green eyes even more penetrating. A silver circlet held his long black hair away from his face, and he looked impressive in his decoration-festooned dress uniform.
Beside her husband was Marie, whose petiteness added to the illusion of Michael's height. Her gown was a shade darker than the one worn by Countess Allard, and she wore her blond hair swept back from the left side of her face with a malachite and silver clasp. She looked lovingly at the Duke, then let him guide her down the stairs into the antechamber.
Dan turned back toward his parents just in time to see the hooded expression on his father's face. What is it, I wonder? I know there is no love lost between Duke Michael and my father, but my father has never been one to bear a grudge. The MechWarrior smiled. "Michael and his wife look as though they survived their trip insystem well. The Mac's Captain said they came in at 1.75 Gs. Must have taken its toll on the Duchess."
Riva shot cautious glances to either side, then spoke in a low voice. "The Duchess traveled to Terra aboard the Prince's ship."
Dan pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Interesting."
Janos Marik, Captain-General of the Free Worlds League, was next to appear in the doorway to polite applause. Though he had once been a tall man, age had stooped his shoulders somewhat and had entirely leeched his shoulder-length hair of color. Deep wrinkles gathered the flesh at the corners of his eyes and lined his brow. Everything about him, including the House Marik crest tattooed on his forehead in black and purple, seemed tired. His uniform bore the medals and campaign ribbons befitting the long career of the eldest Successor State ruler, yet the man seemed weighed down by the responsibilities they represented.
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