Green Mansion, Black Hills
Solaris City, Solaris VII
Freedom Theater, Lyran Alliance
16 August 3062
Security cameras set atop the high wall surrounding Green Mansion panned back and forth, surveying the streets for trouble. Remarkably, the roadways were mostly clear. The neighborhood was too far away from the city proper, and the mobs had not yet moved against this high-end residential district of the Black Hills. For those who wanted to try it, a Blackjack stationed at the corner of St. Hellions Avenue and April Street would discourage looting or other mischief while also watching for hostile 'Mechs. The local tunnel system had been blocked off by intentionally collapsing the arterioles, making above-ground movement the only way to approach. The one security concern came from the nearby border shared with Cathay, but the Free Cappella faction, always friendly to House Davion, still controlled the far side of that border.
Which left Drew Hasek-Davion's personal estates in the middle of one of the few relatively safe areas of Solaris City.
Megan Church sidled along one of the five-meter-high walls, listening for any hint of danger over the rasp of her leather jacket sliding along rough stonework. In her right hand she carried a one-meter-long shaft. A loop was attached to one end, and the head consisted of a hard ball covered by a special plastic wrap. Hugging the wall put her below the cameras' line of sight, though she could just see their lenses peeking over the rim, their asynchronous movement creating brief gaps in their coverage. It would be enough.
If the Blackjack pilot had noticed the instrument she carried, he'd have burned her down at once just to be safe. The device was a grapple rod, an infantry tool for scaling up the leg of a BattleMech to plant satchel charges in knee and hip joints. Except for this and a few other devices, MechWarriors were fully insulated from the threat of any mere foot soldier. Fortunately the Blackjack was facing the opposite direction, and Megan had no plans to get any closer than she stood just now. The grapple rod had many uses off a battlefield as well.
Watching the uneven camera motion, she peeled away the plastic coating from the head of the grapple rod, careful not to touch the special adherent that coated the hard ball. When both cameras crisscrossed their line of sight directly over her and panned away, she quickly stepped out, took aim over the wall, and thumbed the activation stud on the shaft. The ball shot away on a small compressed-air charge, flying ten meters before coming to the end of its wire tether. Wrapping over the wall, the ball fell against the other side, where its industrial-strength adherent glued it fast to the stonework. She pressed another button, and with a high-pitched whirring the motor built into the shaft began to reel in the wire.
Placing one foot in the stirrup, Megan rode the grapple rod up the side of the wall. Once she neared the top, it was a simple matter to stop winding in the tether, loop the cable around one of the iron spikes crowning the wall, and then drop down the other side. Hanging from the end of the grapple rod gave her a short two-meter drop to the lush grounds maintained below for Drew Hasek-Davion's personal enjoyment. She left the device there for his security guards to find later.
Megan would be leaving by the front gate.
A short run across well-manicured garden paths, fragrant with the scents of more flowers than she'd ever seen in one place, brought Megan to the base of a fountain. A concrete statue of a Union Class DropShip sat at the center of a dozen small water jets, whose broad base could have concealed two infantry squads. This was as far as she could approach by stealth. Although the walls possessed many security flaws, whoever had designed the mansion's defenses had been no slouch. From the best position it would still take a twenty-meter run to make any cover, and the cameras here were positioned to give no blind spots. Maybe if she waited near the drive, she might shadow a car in toward the garage. If she had that kind of time to spare today.
Megan stood and boldly headed for the front door. Reaching a corner wall of the manse, she ducked into the open garage. Hasek-Davion's chauffeur leaned against the side of an Avanti hovercar, nodding carefully as he watched her every move. She waved back a short salute, making for the door that led into the mansion proper. It opened even before she placed a hand on its latch. Garret stood there, gray eyes expressionless as he ushered her in and directed her to follow him.
So, another round conceded to Hasek-Davion.
"Ms. Church. A pleasure, as always, to see you." Drew Hasek-Davion waved with his pool cue as Megan was escorted into the billiards room. He leaned forward to line up his sight with the tip of the cue stick, and with a sharp crack sent a field of colored balls scattering over the felt. "I assume I have some camera motors in need of repair and that I will be billed for another grapple rod."
She struggled and looked around. Except for Garrett, she and the master of Blackstar Stables were the only ones present. Drew Hasek-Davion never met with her alone. The man trusted no one whose fate he didn't already rigidly control. Megan refused to give him that kind of hold over her. Bargaining with the devil of Green Mansion was dangerous enough without such complications.
The portly man set aside his cane for the walking stick he favored, idly tapping the lion's head into the palm of his hand as he spoke. "No trouble finding your way here, I hope. I was reluctant to call for you, with all the trouble on the streets."
"There's only trouble on the streets if you don't belong there to begin with." She hunched her shoulders, suddenly uncomfortable with the way Hasek-Davion stared at her with measured curiosity. "Cathay is a hellhole mess," she said, shrugging off five terrifying minutes on her trip here in which she'd been caught between no less than five 'Mechs in a grand free-for-all. "But traveling through Silesia and the Black Hills is as easy as knowing when to cheer for Archon-Princess Katrina or Prince Victor."
Hasek-Davion scoffed. "And that's easy?"
"I could have drawn a map for you six months ago, letting you know where the pro-Victor element was keeping a low profile in Silesia."
"Then why didn't you?" Hasek-Davion snapped. "It might have proved useful."
Megan smiled. "My job was to keep them fighting. It was only important for me to know whose buttons could be pushed." She cocked her head appraisingly. "Besides, you didn't pay me enough for it."
"It seems I may be paying you enough for work you haven't performed, though."
Megan froze, a mask of indifference carefully drawn across her face. Slowly, allowing her mind to catch up, she asked, "I'm not certain what you mean. Sir."
Drew Hasek-Davion stood and walked around to the far side of his billiards table, where he leaned over the felt table top with his walking stick laid flat across it. "I mean that you have twice billed me for fights or events for which I know you are not responsible," he said, just barely containing his rage. "You had nothing to do with the rioters who attacked Skye Tiger Estate last night."
The distance Hasek-Davion had suddenly put between them meant that he acknowledged the possibility of violence coming from this interview. Megan did not dare turn to look for Garrett, but kept her yellow-green eyes focused on her employer while trying to divine exactly what Hasek-Davion might know. Was the attack against Jerry Stroud's estate coordinated by another in his employ? Had she been spotted on the estate grounds, away from the so-called rioters? Megan decided to play the middle, hoping his reaction would tell her which way to jump.
"I didn't lead them in against the estate, no. I assume you had someone else do that." She paused, watching, but Hasek-Davion was too experienced a player to give away anything so easy. She would, then, assume the worst. "However, I was already on the grounds and did facilitate the armed party that forayed out from the estate and ended up trading shots with your rioters. I believe four rioters were killed, which will escalate the tensions."
Drew's cold blue eyes tightened with suspicion. "Is that what you were doing inside? I wondered."
Megan thanked her natural paranoia of the night before, which had prompted her to infiltrate Skye Tiger E
state by going over the wall, much as she'd done today at Green Mansion. Likely, one of Hasek-Davion's other agents had spotted and recognized her. That told her several things right there. That he had other agents fomenting trouble in Silesia, that her face was known to them, and that Hasek-Davion was more dangerous than even she had guessed. Had she kept to her original plan of donning a Skye Tiger security guard uniform and slipping through one of the manned gates, Hasek-Davion's own paranoia might have demanded that he shoot her for the mere possibility of betrayal.
"I saw Victor Vandergriff's Banshee inside, being repaired." She hoped the information might turn the topic slightly, but his level gaze did not falter. Hasek-Davion played for higher stakes than worrying about Michael Searcy's current enemy. She shrugged, feigning resigned indifference. "I arranged for a few accidents that might be attributed to the rioters, especially after they blew the eastern gatehouse. It was also my idea, planted carefully, in the right ear, that a small force be sent out after them."
"Your report implied that you were in command of the entire situation." His voice was still hard, but his eyes no longer glittered with murderous rage.
"No one leads a mob," Megan said. "Not really. You appear to lead it by figuring out where the people are going to go and then jumping out in front. That gives you some small measure of control." Time to get off the defensive. "You of all people should know that."
Drew Hasek-Davion blinked his surprise. "What do you mean?"
"Champion of the Federated Suns?" Megan asked, smiling. "Blackstar waving the Davion flag around? Six years ago you were denouncing the Federated Commonwealth and before that courting all opposition to the ruling Davion line. I'd say you've also made a habit lately of jumping out in front of the crowd to be seen as its leader."
One thin eyebrow crept up toward Hasek-Davion's hairline. "So we seem to have something in common." He nodded, conceding the point. "Most people can't— or at last do not care to—remember so far back. On the Game World, anything past last month's highlights on the Interstellar Sports Network is ancient history."
He walked slowly around one end of the billiards table. "I want to move you to the Black Hills. You might prove very useful in rallying Davionist support around Michael Searcy, and me. If we can bring our sector back under control, it would play well to the media."
Bringing the Black Hills under control would mean stamping out all Lyran pockets within the sector. "I would prefer to remain on assignment in Silesia," Megan hedged. "Over there the fighting is much bloodier, more chaotic, and I can work more effectively."
Smiling grimly, Hasek-Davion shook his head. "All right, stay in Silesia. But you shouldn't let it get personal."
"Let what get personal?"
"Fixating on one enemy—wanting to be in on the kill. It can lead to mistakes, especially since sometimes all you can do is survive your enemy." His eyes took on a hard gleam. "Knowing when that death is actually within reach, that is the hard part. That is when patience pays Megan had a good idea who he thought was within his reach. "The voice of experience?" she asked.
Hasek-Davion looked at her strangely, as if suddenly awakened from a vision only he could see. "You learned your lessons on the streets of Solaris City. I learned mine from the machinations of one Kai Allard-Liao. The man almost destroyed me, even though I was never his main enemy. Still, he showed me how far-reaching collateral damage could be and the power of a man firmly in control of the people of Solaris VII." His face darkened. "In fact, I probably wouldn't be where I am today without those lessons."
"You don't sound too grateful," Megan said cautiously, not wanting to draw his ire again.
He smiled, showing his teeth, and it looked more like the feral grin of an animal. "I never said I enjoyed the experience."
Megan returned his grim smile. "That just gives us one more thing in common then."
* * *
Seen almost in miniature on a holovid screen, the Overlord Class DropShip looked nowhere near as massive as one might expect. Its ovoid shape rested on a half-dozen blunt-footed landing pads that extended out from its base. Only one large ramp was still extended onto the spaceport tarmac, guarded by two sentries. And as they turned to walk up the ramp and into the DropShip, the final passengers to be loaded, someone might guess the vessel no larger than ten stories—twelve at best.
Until that person realized that those passengers were not people, but BattleMechs topping ten to twelve meters each. The tiny ants, now scurrying away to clear the area in their toy-sized vehicles—those were the people. The Overlord topped out at one hundred-thirty meters, about forty stories high. It was as if someone had plunked down a skyscraper in the middle of a desolate field of ferrocrete, but instead of steel and glass it was white-painted armor and weapon turrets looking out on the world of Solaris VII.
A world being bid farewell, as the first curls of fiery plasma scorched the field and roiled up from underneath the titanic ship. The force shook the ground. Even with the camera set back far enough to capture the entire ship in one shot, the image still trembled. Then slowly, majestically, the leviathan rose from the ground, picking up speed as the giant fusion drive lifted the DropShip out of gravity's embrace. The camera followed it until it became a false star in a pale gray sky and was finally lost to the near-eternal cloud cover that blanketed the continent of Equatus.
"That was the scene at Mantraa's Fulcrum Fields today, as the first three companies of ComStar's Eighth Army, Fifty-sixth Division, lifted off Solaris VII under orders from Archon Katrina Steiner-Davion. The Martial's Sword division, lately under the command of Precentor Celene Jussiaume, has been posted on the Game World for the past decade. The bulk of the division will continue to evacuate over the next twenty-four hours, leaving behind only a small logistics detachment responsible for arranging the relocation of personal effects of those family members not able to make such a rapid departure because of work contracts."
The scene cut to a live feed of Julian Nero. He was now the leading Silesian journalist covering the growing civil unrest and liked to think he'd brought his own personal flair to what was, in truth, a grim reality. Certainly he was in demand—the highest in his career. His commentaries led every news piece that left Solaris VII by HPG, bound for either the Lyran Alliance or the Federated Suns. Only Mason Wells, the popular Black Hills anchorman, came close to matching the Great Nero's current popularity. For the first twenty-four hours of the crisis Julian had even managed to avoid routines such as plugging sponsors, worrying about running long into the next feature, or toeing the line of state policy.
Though that was about to change. He felt the frown straining at the edge of his mouth, and instead gave the viewing audience a brilliant, false smile. Spreading his hands flat over the desk in front of him, drawing strength from a script he had played out hundreds, even thousands of times before, he launched into the prepared spiel.
"Never considered a garrison force, the Fifty-sixth Division has served more in the role of arbitrators for inter-sector disputes. However, this neutrality seemed to waver in the face of Victor Steiner-Davion's accepting the position of ComStar's Precentor Martial. There was even some vocal dissatisfaction when the unit was passed over as security during the seasonal tournaments this year. The chance of ComStar interfering in this time of turmoil and crisis, to further their own interests rather than that of the Lyran state, was too great. A wise precaution, it seems, especially when the major protests so far have come from stable owners in the Black Hills sector of Solaris City."
And at least this last part was completely true, so perhaps the Archon knew what she was doing after all. Though Julian was neglecting to mention that Overlord, the premiere Lyran stable, had also called for ComStar intervention and that notably absent on the Federated Suns side was Drew Hasek-Davion of Blackstar. Notably absent from that situation anyway. The letter Julian had received from Hasek-Davion felt as if it was burning a hole in his inside jacket pocket.
"Locally, Silesia is suffer
ing more under the actions of Davionist vigilantes and others with a mind to exploit the situation for their own gain." Nero warmed up to his theme now that official business was out of the way and his teleprompter had moved on to the script he had prepared himself. "The Renegades, one of the stronger independent cooperatives that challenge the Game World's well-entrenched stables, have carved their own little territory out of Silesia's fashionable upper east side. They have reportedly struck a deal with the Black Lions in Montenegro that is basically a non-aggression pact, securing at least part of the Silesia-Montenegro border between them. And what began as looting in the Riverside district has turned into an armed occupation. Where the closet-Davionists have failed to take control, massive criminal elements from Cathay's Maze have poured across the border to claim their share of the spoils. Resistance is so heavy that the police have now declared it a total loss, concentrating their efforts elsewhere.
"Not everyone is giving up, however. Today Jerry Stroud of the Skye Tigers, apparently speaking for himself and Lynch Stables, promised to support a drive to put down the riots and retake control of the sector. Victor Vandergriff, also fighting under both crests, has made numerous sorties into the battle-scarred city, and so far claims two Renegade 'Mechs as well as a Starlight 'starbrite' who attempted to support the Riverside standoff. Against the Davionists, Vandergriff showed the same furious talent that has carried him so long in the Top Twenty. We'll have highlights of that battle, shot by one of our field cameramen, coming up next."
Julian paused for a fraction of a second as the teleprompter reminded him to lead out with more description of Vandergriff's intensity in the fight. The footage was certainly worth the extra build-up. Still, at the back of his mind was the nagging feeling that Vandergriff was still not a good bet. Julian didn't need to tie his success to the fortunes of any one Mech Warrior. What the people wanted—what he had to make them want—was simply more of Nero, no matter which fighter was currently at the forefront of the news. "And I'll be back at the top of the hour," he said, leading into his traditional sign-off, "with the latest coverage of events. A promise from Julian Nero. The man in the know."
LE5790 - Illusions Of Victory Page 14