"I am not certain I follow your meaning, Primus." Focht was beginning to feel uneasy. "Worlds are selected based on their garrison strength, the value of their resources and industry, and the overall size of their populations. We choose those with high resources or industries, but weak defenses and low populations, as the primary targets. They are easier to take and hold."
"Perhaps for the military this is true." The Primus' blue eyes glittered like ice. "ComStar, on the other hand, has other interests. Because the Clans see fit to let us administer their conquered worlds and to reeducate the populations, your criteria are flawed. By advising the conquest of worlds with larger populations first, we gain a larger audience for the Sacred Word of Blake."
The Precentor Martial forced himself to count silently to ten. With equal deliberation, he clasped his hands behind his back. "Primus, I understand your desire to gain access to as many people as possible within the conquered territories. However, to advocate the conquest of high-density population worlds increases the chance of civilian casualties."
"And you see a problem with that?" Myndo's eyes flared wide. "Bloodshed is just what people need to shake them from their complacency. If civilians die, it only builds resentment against the Clans, making it all the easier for us to play the role of savior when we come as intermediary between the populace and the Clans. The passion of the people becomes our passion, and through it, we can enlighten them."
"Surely, Primus, you would not advocate the commission of atrocities against civilians?"
Myndo vetoed that idea with the wave of a hand. "Never, Precentor Martial, would I issue such orders. But you know as well as I that the people of worlds where civilians have suffered are more quickly transformed into a docile citizenry."
"I see." Focht looked down at the golden ComStar insignia inlaid into the floor of the chamber. "Then I take it the re-education programs are going well?"
"Not as well as I hoped, but the withdrawal of the Clan leadership has lifted some of the pressure from the people. Some of them dare believe the Clans will not continue the invasion, though our agents assure them the Clans intend to fight on. Yet, in just over a year, the people of many a conquered world see ComStar as the only means to getting things done. If we can continue as advocates for the people against their conquerors for another two or three years, we will be able to engineer a mass uprising to overthrow the Clans when the time is right."
Focht's head came back up. "What news of the negotiations on Outreach? Is Wolf going to be able to unite the feuding factions of the Inner Sphere into an army?"
The petulant look that swept the Primus' features was an eloquent answer. "We have little or no news. We have not infiltrated any agents into the cadre of outsiders Wolf allows on his world. Even if we had, it would be impossible for such an agent to report until he was out of the system. As nearly as we can tell, people are going into Outreach, but no one has left. I believe this means that negotiations are not proceeding as smoothly as Wolf had hoped, for no action has been taken in direct response to orders issued from Outreach."
"On the other hand, Primus, it could also mean negotiations are going very well, and the planning precludes the issuance of orders."
The Primus shrugged. "Either way, I do not believe the armies of the Great Houses could ever pose a threat to the Clans, even if united. Was it not you who time and again has underscored the technological advantage the Clans have over any forces in the Inner Sphere? Reading your reports, it has occurred to me that cooperation between the Great Houses would result in the Clans abandoning their silly practice of bidding away strength. Only we can stop them, and we will do it from within."
"I realize, Primus, that you disdain dealing with hypothetical situations, but the current state of affairs does demand some speculation." Focht rubbed the white stubble on his chin with his left hand. "Twenty years ago, a Star League memory core fell into the hands of Hanse Davion. A covert ComStar assault on the New Avalon Institute of Science failed to recover or destroy it. Since that time, a number of technological advancements have emerged in medicine, planetology, astrophysics, and other sciences. These suggest that the computer core provided breakthroughs to the rediscovery of much knowledge lost after the First Succession War."
"Yes, but we have seen no developments in weapons or 'Mech technology."
"True, Primus, but it would not be the first time that the Successor States have withheld information from us. It could be that they are keeping a tight guard on the secret of new advancements. You will recall that twenty years ago House Davion revealed a new myomer fiber that made 'Mechs faster and stronger than ever before."
Myndo's eyes narrowed. "But that myomer fiber combusted when in contact with a gas Davion scientists had created. That was why Davion did not outfit his 'Mechs with the pseudomuscle, but was more than willing to let House Liao have the secret so he could use it against them. I remember well the raid on Sian, Precentor Martial. I also know that two decades of research by Liao scientists have not succeeded in finding a way to coat or change the muscle so that it is not combustible in the presence of that gas."
"I do not bring this to your attention to upset you, Primus." Focht held his hands open in a gesture of peace. "I do hasten to point out, however, that the triple-strength myomer has not been released for use in industrial 'Mechs where the gas is not usually present. It strikes me as likely that the myomer is the subject of continued classified researches. Even if the Davion scientists have not found a way to make the myomer immune to the gas, they could equip their 'Mechs with the more powerful muscles anyway, just as House Liao has done with recon 'Mechs like the Locust and the Raven. These 'Mechs could be used on airless worlds or ones constantly lashed by storms to present the Clans with a nasty surprise."
"We shall inform the Clans of the gas and instruct them in its use."
Focht nodded. "I have already done so, Primus. That is not the issue.. I explain all this to emphasize that we do not know the state of Davion weapons research on a secret that is twenty years old. How can we be certain Davion or Kurita or even Thomas Marik has not initiated a weapons research program that will close the technological gap with the Clans?"
The Primus recoiled with shock. "Close it? Is that possible in twenty years?"
The Precentor Martial sighed heavily. "Probably not, but they could narrow it. If the core started them on the road to restoring 'Mechs to the level and ability of their Star League precursors, the gap narrows precipitously."
Only the whisper of rustling silk broke the silence as Myndo paced. "I see your point. You must somehow determine the capabilities of such Star League-era weapons in the hands of current Mech Warriors. We must be able to alert the Clans to potential difficulties."
The Precentor Martial barely succeeded in repressing a smug grin. "By using some of our own Star League-era 'Mechs in the exercise I was running, it was just such data I was attempting to gather."
Displeasure arced through the Primus' eyes. "Do not rebuke me, Anastasius Focht. I know well who and what you truly are. Do you forget I am the one who rescued you from a life of mind-numbing boredom and made you the head of my armies? You have served me well, but you may yet push me too far."
"Apologies, Primus. I did not mean to offend." Focht bowed his head remorsefully, but part of him rejoiced at having stung her. As he brought his head up, he adjusted the patch over his right eye. "Have you yet reached a decision on the matter of the message to Morgan Kell? I promised Phelan Kell that I would communicate to Kell that his son is alive."
"Yes, I have. You are forbidden to communicate news of Phelan Kell to any of his kin." Myndo's face became an implacable mask. "If Morgan Kell or anyone on Outreach had even a hint of Phelan's survival, it would not only tip them to our involvement with the Clans, but it might also set them to thoughts of negotiating with the Clans. That must never happen."
"As you will it, Primus."
"Do not look so glum, Anastasius. You know there is no other way." He
r eyes focused distantly and Focht knew she no longer saw him. "As difficult as this time is for humanity, it is only by passing through the cleansing fire of the Clan invasion that man can become worthy of what we, inheritors of the Word of Blake, will one day offer them."
9
Wolf's Dragoons General Headquarters, Outreach
Sarna March, Federated Commonwealth
15 March 3051
Nestled in the 'Mech simulator's metal cocoon, Victor Davion cursed. "Dammit! Galen, can you get over here? I have a situation ..."
The computer-projected enemy Centurion—a humanoid BattleMech whose right arm ended in the muzzle of an autocannon—stepped clear of its hiding place in the narrow canyon. The right arm came up and swung into line with the breast of the Prince's Victor. Victor flicked a glance at the armor diagram on his secondary monitor and chose not to duck back to cover. I can take whatever his autocannon will dish out, and can give back as good as I get.
As Victor brought his own 'Mech's muzzle-arm up, the Centurion cut loose. The simulator cockpit whirled, blurring the vision of the computer-construct landscape. Victor jerked against the command couch's restraining straps as the cockpit stopped abruptly, then experienced a severe jolt as special reaction pads in the chair pounded into his back.
The view screens showed him sky.
"Christ Almighty, what's he packing in that thing?" The armor diagram showed that all the armor had been stripped away from the right side of the Victor's torso. The chain feed for the autocannon ammo in its right shoulder had been blasted to pieces. The sheer impact from the assault had been enough for the computer judging the contest to determine that the Victor would have been knocked to the ground, a judgement that put the Prince at a severe disadvantage.
Victor forced the BattleMech into a sitting position and cut loose with twin blasts from the lasers mounted on its left forearm. The scarlet fire ripped straight lines through the canyon, splashing red highlights over the striated rock, but it missed the Centurion. Still, the hastily snapped shots forced the Centurion pilot to duck back, giving Victor just enough time to regain his feet again. The computer, using Victor's own sense of balance as reported through the bulky neurohelmet he wore, brought the BattleMech upright.
"Galen, where are you?"
"Coming up behind you, boss. What's the score?"
"Him lots, and me nothing. Centurions pack a Luxor D-series Autocannon, right?"
"In the right arm, yeah." Galen hesitated. "That is, all except one I know of. The one's got a Pontiac 100, just like your Victor there."
Victor pounded a fist down against the arm of his command couch. "Damn! Yen-lo-wang has a Pontiac. That had to be Kai." A shiver ran down his spine. "And if that was Kai, the rest of his lance can't be far behind."
"Roger. I've got visual on you."
The computer projected an image of the entire 360-degree area surrounding Victor in a 160-degree arc in front of him. Twin crosshairs stood in the middle of the display, each under control of the joysticks on the arms of his command couch. At the right edge of the display, beyond the gold bars that showed Victor the limits of his weapon firing arcs, he saw the computer projection of Galen's Crusader marching into the canyon behind him.
"You know, Highness, from behind, your 'Mech looks fine."
"Looks are deceiving." Victor punched up a damage report. "The armor on my right side is gone completely. The autocannon is useless because the ammo feed mechanism is shot. I'm lucky Kai didn't get a stray shot into the magazine."
The LRM pods on either of the Crusader's arms flicked open. "Where is he?"
"I don't know. Where's the other half of our lance?"
Hohiro's voice boomed an answer to the question into the Prince's neurohelmet. "I am here, coming up behind Hauptmann Cox. Has your Immortal assault 'Mech run into some trouble?"
Victor ground his teeth. "You might put it that way, Sho-sa. We've found Kai Allard and he's running in a modified Centurion."
"If you find a Centurion too much to handle, Kommandant Davion, I would accept command of the lance."
"If you and Yodama would be so kind as to keep up with Galen and me, we might be able to trap Kai's people and have it out with them." Back behind Galen's Crusader, Victor saw the blocky form of Hohiro's Grand Dragon wander into view. The LRM launching rack jutted forward from the 'Mech's chest like the muzzle of a beast. Its right arm had no hand because the forearm housed a PPC, and Victor saw a medium laser underslung from the 'Mech's left forearm. He knew the Grand Dragon to be a nasty 'Mech in a fight, and would have preferred battling it out with Hohiro to being on the same side with him.
Galen's voice cut into the commlink. "I think you two should remember that we're fighting against Kai and the others, not among ourselves. Victor, you know well enough that we're going to have to work together to beat Kai, Sho-sa Kurita, if you've not learned to be wary of Kai yet, you probably will have by the time this simulator exercise is over."
Shin Yodama, bringing his Phoenix Hawk up behind the Grand Dragon, overrode the commlink. "Scatter. Incoming!"
Up over the computer horizon came three swarms of long-range missiles. The narrow canyon took some out as they impacted the lip or slammed into outcroppings and exploded in brilliant balls of computerized flame. A series of detonations rocked Victor in his pod as missiles peppered his 'Mech's left leg, blasting digitized armor into fragments. The Victor started to topple again, but the Prince jammed the useless autocannon into a canyon wall and kept himself upright.
The missile barrage hammered the two Kurita 'Mechs. The missiles savaged the armor on Hohiro's chest and right leg. A rippling series of explosions crushed armor on Shin's Phoenix Hawk, leaving the right side of its chest pockmarked with craters. A second wave of missiles following immediately after the first blasted yet more armor from Hohiro's Grand Dragon and chipped away at the armor over the Phoenix Hawk's chest and right arm.
Victor escaped the wrath of the second wave, but Galen did not. A quintet of missiles arced into the Crusader's right knee. Great chunks of half-melted ferroceramic armor shot from the fireball engulfing the joint. The Crusader staggered and dropped to one knee as another set of missiles struck it full in the chest. The impact knocked the Crusader sideways, but Galen caught it on one hand and kept the 'Mech from going all the way down.
The fire in the 'Mech's chest did not subside with the end of the missile barrage. More explosions wracked the humanoid Crusader, making it shake as with a giant case of hiccups. Fire geysered from the hole in its chest and out through its spine, then a massive blast obliterated its chest and sent its arms and legs flying throughout the canyon.
"Galen's out. Move!" Victor started his 'Mech running down the canyon toward where he had seen Kai's Centurion. "Missiles must have breached the armor and touched off his short-range missile magazine. Move it, or we'll get pounded by another flight of LRMs." Victor suppressed a shudder as he realized that if Kai's attack had hit his autocannon magazine, his 'Mech could easily have been torn apart from inside. "Kai spotted for the rest of his lance and they brought the missiles right down on top of us."
Victor cut around the corner into another canyon and saw, after a short distance, that it opened to the right into a broader canyon with a flat, level floor. Better yet, a 'Mech stood its ground and waited for him. "Move, guys. I've found them."
His computer identified the BattleMech as a Cataphract, but Victor knew it by another name. Because the ungainly beast looked like something cobbled together from various parts of other 'Mechs, most Federated Commonwealth MechWarriors called the Liao 'Mech a "Frankenstein." An autocannon barrel jutted forward like a lance from the center of its chest. Its right arm was identical to a Marauder's, down to the PPC and medium laser in the boxy weapons pod that substituted for a right hand. The left arm was styled after the right arm on most Shadow Hawks, except that the medium laser was mounted on top of the arm instead of below it. That led most weapon experts to conclude that the whole system had just
been transplanted with a refit on the elbow and hand. The bulbous body and birdlike legs again drew comparisons with the Marauder, but somehow the Cataphract did not offer the same menace as its predecessor.
Victor dropped his crosshairs onto the Cataphract’s outline and hit the button beneath his left thumb. Twin spears of laser light stabbed out at the awkward 'Mech. The first shot boiled away armor on the Cataphract’s left flank, letting gobbets of it drop like rain onto the canyon floor. The second carved a hot scar through the armor on the 'Mech's head, making the pilot flinch. The 'Mech, complying with the motion of the pilot, took a skip-jump to the left, but stayed upright and brought its weapons to bear.
A bolt of blue lightning leaped from the PPC and caressed the Victor's right arm. Molten armor coursed down the limb like blood from an open wound. The two medium lasers bracketed the assault 'Mech, each stabbing into the armor on an arm. The autocannon's stream of slugs slashed a bar sinister across the Victor's chest, but nothing penetrated armor to cause internal damage.
With his autocannon out of commission, Victor sent his 'Mech racing forward to beat on the Cataphract with the useless weapon. A quick blow could knock the autocannon out of commission, and being in that close would make the PPC much more difficult to aim. Victor smiled as he raised the 'Mech's right arm. "It's all over now, Sun-Tzu."
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. To the extreme right edge of his display, he saw Kai's Centurion step away from its hiding place near the canyon mouth. The autocannon came up, and even as Victor tried to cut to one side, the weapon vomited out a rain of metal.
The depleted-uranium slugs hit the Victor in its already damaged left leg. The projectiles blasted away the battered remnants of armor clinging to the leg, then zipped through the myomer muscles corded in the 'Mech's thigh. Sparks flew as shells chipped away at the ferrotitanium femur, snapping the inorganic bone in half.
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