Decision at Thunder Rift

by William H. Keith

  "What about the Lancers?"

  "The order came down about an hour ago. We're to stand down and wait for Captain Nolem to take charge of us. Seems we're being transferred to the Dracos."

  "The Dracos!"

  "Lori," Tor said, worry creasing his face. "There's worse. They've got the Lieutenant. We intercepted a report that he was being taken to Guards HQ across from the Palace."

  No matter what mixture of hurt and anger she was feeling toward Grayson, she certainly wouldn't stand by while the Guards marched him off to their cells. It was all too likely that Grayson Death Carlyle would never reappear once they got him inside that HQ.

  She looked up at Tor. "Ren... is the Locust ready?"

  "We warmed her up when we started eavesdropping. Why?"

  "Listen, get in touch with as many of our people as you can." Then she gave rapid-fire instructions to Ramage and Tor. The unit had to be rallied, the Stinger and Wasp powered up and taken out of the city. She wasn't sure yet where they would go. Perhaps into the mountains. Damn, she thought, if only Grayson were here. He knew this land, knew the terrain and where they might be able to hide. One thing was certain, however. They couldn't stay where they were.

  "Sergeant, Captain Tor... I'm counting on you. Get everyone you can back here to the HQ, set up a perimeter, and hold it. Send out all the hovercraft we've got to get our people. The city is going to be up for grabs for hours yet, so you ought to be able to get through. Don't fight with the Guard. Just try to avoid them. And call Corporal Yee. Have him assemble a squad for a 'Mech ground support mission."

  "Where are you going?" Ramage looked worried.

  Lori didn't answer. She was already sprinting toward the Locust.

  * * * *

  A Guards squad had escorted Grayson across the Palace grounds and a street crowded with people to the Royal Guards headquarters building on the Hub. There were jail cells in the basement, and a platoon-strength patrol of armed and armored Guardsmen pacing the grounds outside.

  As he was being led down the steps, Grayson could hear a public address system somewhere in the distance braying the news that Trellwan was now part of the glorious brotherhood of the Draconis Combine. The people were being told to disperse, to return to their homes and listen for further news on their visors. The crowds, however, showed no signs of being ready to disperse.

  His cell was reasonably clean, and was furnished with a sink, toilet, bunk, chair, and table. The bare electric bulb that dangled from the cell's high ceiling cast a harsh yellow light over the thick stone walls, which were broken only by a latticework of electronically locked steel bars. Grayson knew he would not be going out that way without permission.

  He sat down heavily on the bunk, feeling tiredness like a heavy pack across his shoulders. To think that Stannic was now King of Trellwan! Grayson realized that the Chief Minister must have been working toward that goal all along, with the Lancers and himself simply two more pawns in his struggle to consolidate power. Somehow, the knowledge that he had been used did not pain him so much as his regret at not being able to continue the campaign against his father's murderers. That was what grated on his soul and left him in a rage of frustration.

  Word had come that Hendrik's pirates had surrendered the Castle rather than fight with the regiment of modern, well-equipped BattleMechs now disembarking at the spaceport. Even knowledge that the pirates were defeated, prisoners now, did not help. Grayson's right fist impacted with his left palm in an anguished smack. He'd wanted to take down that Marauder himself. It didn't help to remember that not even his three light 'Mechs could have accomplished that

  The more he thought about it, pacing his cell with the frantic circlings of his thoughts, the more he wondered if the situation were quite as clear-cut as it appeared. After all, the pirates could have withdrawn into the hills, perhaps forced enough of a stalemate to negotiate for better terms. And just what was going to happen to those of Hendrik's men who'd surrendered? Somehow, he didn't think they'd have surrendered so easily if they believed they were going to be shot or sold as slaves on some market world of the Combine's dominions.

  The whole package seemed entirely too neat. And it was too great a coincidence that Duke Ricol should land here NOW... just NOW... of all possible times and places.

  The plot was smelling larger and deeper, making Grayson wish desperately that there were some way he could check up on the Red Duke. The computers at the Castle would have the records he needed, unless Hendrik's men had done a full program dump, which was unlikely. Computer records of any kind were precious as military intelligence. Hendrik's men would be going through those records, but they wouldn't have destroyed them yet

  He slapped his hand against a dank stone wall, letting the sudden stinging pain steady his mind. It did no good thinking in circles like that. He would not be able to think about checking records until he got out of here. Besides, if this whole thing WERE some kind of monstrous plot, it was very unlikely that he would ever get out again. A walk down that corridor... a pistol shot behind his ear... that was a far more likely fate for the Deliverer of Sarghad.

  He thought of Mara. Just when he'd been wondering if Claydon was going to betray him, all along it had been Mara, Mara and her father. A number of puzzle pieces were coming together. The trap the night he had led 50 men against the supposedly damaged Shadow Hawk — had it been Stannic who had given the attack away, set them up to be ambushed? THAT suggested some sort of three-way tie between Duke Ricol, Stannic, and the pirates. Or had Stannic been cooperating with both pirates and Combine in order to ensure backing the winner?

  And there was the destruction of Berenir's house, his death in that flaming ruin. It might have been chance, but Berenir had been speaking with Stannic moments before, telling him about Grayson. Three Royal Guards had tried to take Grayson prisoner within the hour, and Berenir's house had been singled out for attack not long after that. Perhaps Mara was the connection?

  They wouldn't keep him here long, Grayson decided, not now that he had become inconvenient. That stroll down the passageway could come very soon. He slumped back down on the bunk, eyes burning, face wet with tears. Well, he had certainly managed to make a mess of things.

  24

  Grayson awoke to a sound of thunder, distant but growing nearer. Somewhere beyond the darkened corridors of the cell area, he heard men running, and shouts. Fully awake now, he sat up, as a fine spray of plaster dust sifted down onto him from the ceiling.

  The thunder came closer, a rock-splintering crash that thudded repeatedly and seemed to pound even at the wall. There was a pause in the bombardment, and then Grayson heard the harsh rattle of heavy machine guns being fired close by — perhaps just outside the building. With a start, he realized that there was a battle going on out there!

  There were more thundering crashes, much closer this time. Rock and shattered stone burst through the passageway outside his cell, and the lights suddenly went out In the dark, the racket seemed even more infernal, with shouts, screams, and gunshots echoing through the corridors. Then a pair of soldiers were outside his cell, dazzling his eyes with the beam from a handtorch that probed the dust-thick air.

  "Lieutenant, sir! Are you all right?"

  He recognized the men. Corporal Yee and a private named Thorel. Yee used an electronic key on the lock. "Quickly, sir! The Sarge is parked illegally upstairs!" Dazed, Grayson let himself be led out of the cell, past rubble and shattered walls, and up a short flight of stairs to the building's main level.

  The front wall had been smashed in, and was now draped around the hull of the Locust, which squatted in the rubble approximately where the watch sergeant's desk had been until very recendy.

  Lori was there, an MP-20 cradled in her arms, waving him on.

  "Lori! How..."

  "Later! We've got to get out of here." She turned to the corporal. "Yee! Take your squad and head back to HQ. I’ll cover your withdrawal."

  Grayson looked at Yee, and nodded. With thin
gs happening so quickly, he'd been letting himself be swept along by them. He knew he had to pull himself together now, take charge again — of himself and then of his command. First, they needed a rendezvous, somewhere to gather the unit. "You'll get there ahead of us, Corporal. Give Sergeant Ramage a message from me. Tell him to saddle up. Pull in the perimeter, load what he can on every available vehicle, and pull out We'll assemble at Thunder Rift."

  "Thunder Rift, sir?"

  "Right, It's marked on my maps. Avoid the spaceport and the Castle, but get to Thunder Rift. Follow the eastern flank of Mount Gayal on the other side of the Castle. The 'Mechs can make it through there. Hovercraft will have to go west of the port, running at high speed and hoping they're not spotted."

  Yee saluted crisply, gathered up the rest of the squad, and led them into the darkness.

  Grayson paced. "Now... supplies..."

  Lori's teeth flashed in the dim light. "Already taken care of. We liberated a couple of HVTs behind this building when we broke in. They're on their way to HQ."

  "Food?"

  "We've got some. But mostly we've got ammo, some weapons, and oil."

  "O.K. It'll have to do."

  Running figures moved in the distance, shadows against the darkness. Light flickered with the stutter of auto gunfire, and bullets sighed and snapped through the air around them.

  Lori jabbed a thumb toward the crouching 'Mech. "Let's move it, Lieutenant!"

  Automatic rifle fire chopped at the rubble and squealed off the Locust's armor. Lori propelled Grayson toward the open ventral hatch that had been brought down to within two meters of the ground. Grayson swarmed up the chain ladder dangling below the hatch and into the 'Mech.

  The Locust cockpit was cramped for one. With two, it was claustrophobic. Lori shrugged out of her coat and squeezed past him, slipping into the control seat and pulling the neural helmet down over her blond hair. Grayson was forced to stand behind the seat, crouched with his head and neck brushing against the spaghetti tangle of bundled wires and power leads running across the overhead. The 'Mech turned slowly, then lurched free of the rubble, which cascaded down in a roar of dirt and debris. The Locust's IR scanners were on. Blurs of green and white light shimmered and moved through blue darkness as soldiers closed in.

  With the creak of grinding metal, the Locust rose to its full height, pivoting to face the attackers. Lori's right hand pulled at the machine gun controls, and glowing tracers etched trails of light across the screen. One of the glowing shapes collapsed and lay still.

  Grayson stooped to bring his face close beside Lori's. Even in the heat of the Locust cockpit, he was very aware of her warmth, her nearness. "I take it you have a plan?"

  "Well. . . finding you, mostly."

  "And now that you have?"

  Something heavy and loud whanged off the Locust's torso armor, making Grayson's ears ring and even his teeth hurt. "I suppose the next step in the plan is staying alive," Lori said. "What was that you said about Thunder Rift?"

  Grayson nodded as he clung to an overhead handhold. It was difficult to stand with the cockpit lurching from side to side with each stride the 'Mech took. "Yeah. A place I know in the mountains. A small army could hide there." Listening to the unearthly din clanging against the cockpit armor, Grayson recognized it as the staccato rhythm of heavy machinegun fire on the outer hull. "They may follow us."

  Grayson smiled, a cold light in his eyes. "Let 'em. Hovercraft won't be able to make the trek up Gayal. Nothing else they have is fast enough."

  "You've been there?"

  "Many times. I know that terrain. It's broken and way too steep. Even a hoverscout wouldn't make it.”

  “Can we?”

  “No problem."

  Grayson did not add that there were two types of vehicles that could track the Locust up the flank of Gayal to the Rift. Broken ground would not slow aircraft. He didn't know if the Combine Regiment had aerospace fighters at the port, but he did know the bandits had had helicopters. There was a good chance that they were armed with anti-armor missiles at least. Or, if they weren't, they soon would be.

  The other vehicle that could follow them was another ‘Mech.

  "Better alert the rest of the unit," he said. "Yee might not get through."

  Grayson saw the muscles in Lori's cheeks bunch as she opened a commline. She began speaking to some unheard listener, suggesting the rendezvous at Thunder Rift

  After the Rift, then what? Grayson asked himself. What came to mind was the conversation he'd had with Tor about capturing a ship to take them off Trellwan. Grayson seized on the idea, feeling hope and fear mingled.

  He knew that capturing a ship would be a dfficult undertaking. The DropShip at the spaceport was merely the shuttle for transport between a planet's surface and the red starship, which was designed to remain close by a star's jump point without ever approaching a planet. The Invidious should be at Trell's jump point now, ion thrusters maintaining its position against the star's gravity. The ship might have Tor's original crew, plus an unknown number of Hendrik's pirates. Or, the Red Duke may have already put his own men aboard. There was no way of knowing.

  It was even possible that the Invidious was no more, vaporized by a missile from Duke Ricol's flotilla when he dropped from the jump point. That was unlikely, though. Starships represented a resource from the old Star League days that everyone took great care to maintain. As starships could only be built by a few remaining old League shipyards, the same practical considerations that had effectively banned the use of nuclear weapons prevented the destruction of man's last remaining starships. The star-faring vessels could be captured; they were never destroyed.

  The Invidious, then, would be guarded, either by the Duke's men or by Hendrik's. But the key to getting the starship was the DropShip still squatting on the tarmac of Trellwan's spaceport. A pilot — and Tor was the only pilot Grayson knew on the planet — just might be able to take an assault force close enough to storm the freighter.

  The alternative was to remain on Trellwan until another ship called at port. With Duke Ricol in charge of the planet, it was unlikely that anyone would arrive except other ships in the service of the Draco Combine.

  The third alternative was to remain in the city, where they would doubtless be hunted down and killed. Or, they could flee to the deep desert or to the wilderness beyond the mountains by the equatorial sea. There they might expect to live a few weeks or months until their food ran out, until their power systems failed, and the weather or the metal-poisoned water killed them.

  If they tried for a ship, at least they had a chance of surviving. Grayson was anxious to meet with Tor again, so that they could discuss the possibilities.

  * * * *

  Duke Hassid Alexander Ricol looked up across steepled fingers at his warleader. "Well, Singh? What do you have to report?"

  Singh stood at attention before his master, attired in a fauldess black dress uniform with the blue collar and cuff tabs of the Draconian Special Forces. The Duke still wore his custom-tailored red uniform, heavy with the gold and braid that he personally found so tasteless, but that never failed to impress status-minded locals. His own office reflected his true tastes, an almost Spartan simplicity relieved only by an extravagantly wall-sized three-D holovid of a mountain stream, blue skies, and forest green. The stream foamed and splashed its way into a pool, endlessly rippling. It occupied one side wall of the office where Ricol could watch its continuing animation.

  The wall behind his desk bore a topological map of the local region of Trellwan, from south of Sarghad to the southern shores of the Grimheld Sea along the equator. The map was dominated by the twisting, tightly spaced elevation contours of the mountains north and east of the city.

  "The situation in the city is satisfactory, Lord. Stannic and his people are in command, the Militia has been mostly disbanded, and our people are in control of the major communications and government centers."

  "What do you mean, 'mostly disbanded'?"<
br />
  "There was resistance to the order to disband, of course. Some units fought. Some are still fighting. I dispatched one Lance to the Palace area to quell the riots there."

  "Dammit, Singh, we can't have protracted fighting down there! The whole purpose of this mission is to secure Trellwan as a friendly outpost, not as a conquered and garrisoned one! This miserable ball of excrement is of no use to us at all if we must fight to hold it!"

  "Y-yes, Lord. I assure you, the incidents have been minor."

  "'Minor.' And what of the Trells' ‘Mechs?"

  "Ah... yes, Lord." Sweat was standing out on Singh's face, now. He had served Duke Ricol for fifteen standard years, and still dreaded the man's wrath. "Two of the locals' 'Mechs have been taken by the rebels, my Lord, the Locust and the Wasp. We have taken a second Wasp that apparently has been used as a source of spare parts. Its head is missing, as well as its weapons. The Stinger they captured from us is missing..."

  "Which means someone has taken it to the mountains as well."

  "The... the mountains, Lord?"

  Ricol smiled unpleasantly, and swivelled his chair about to take in the area map with a careless sweep of his hand. "Where else? There's nothing to the south or west but endless desert and mineral flats. If they want to stay out of our reach, they'll assemble in the mountains somewhere, off to the north." He leaned closer to the map, peering. "There's a major pass there, a few kilometers north of here..."

  "Thunder Rift, my Lord. I've been there, and checked it out The floor of the Rift is submerged in a glacial lake. There would be no passage there."

  "Hmm, I wonder. 'Mechs can travel underwater. Slowly, to be sure, but they could make it."

  "Of course, Lord."

  "And the small fleet of military hovercraft that have vanished in the past 20 hours could skim across on the lake's surface."