"I do not believe that you make war on us, Sun-Tzu."
"I know." He tried for both sorrow and sympathy in his voice. "I know."
The silence fell again, and Sun-Tzu slowly counted out the seconds until he finally felt the light touch on his arm.
"What are you thinking now, Sun-Tzu Liao?"
He reached over with to take her hand in both of his and give it the smallest squeeze. "How good it is to finally have a friend here," he whispered, gazing up at the first twilight stars so she would not see the smile that must surely be playing in his eyes.
Emma Centrella gazed into the fire, watching the flames dance and crackle. The simple white satin robes she wore threw off the colors of the fire, and contrasted well with her dusky skin. The Magestrix was never one to ignore such details, even in the privacy of her own chambers.
"And he seemed distracted?" She turned her gaze on her daughter. "You believe he has no involvement with these filthy raiders?"
"That I cannot state as fact, Mother." Naomi shuffled from one foot to the other, reminding Emma of her youngest daughter when asked whether she'd finished her school work. "Sun-Tzu might truly be feeling alone and vulnerable here. If so, I am the person closest to him."
And further proof that Sun-Tzu has neither the self-confidence nor self-control required of an Inner Sphere ruler. Yet, she reminded herself, he is not stupid. Inexperienced, perhaps slightly naive. And if he is developing an attachment to Naomi, that could prove useful. After all, Thomas Marik has found cause to postpone his daughter's marriage to the Liao for several years now. Everyone knows that it will only happen as a last resort. Sun-Tzu could be vulnerable.
"Naomi, would it offend you to further this relationship?" Emma's eyes narrowed. "I would like Sun-Tzu to feel at ease with us. With you. Become his friend here."
Naomi kept her eyes downcast. "As the Magestrix desires, of course."
"Thank you, Naomi. We need him friendly to our cause. He is offering us much of what we need to make the Magistracy strong again."
"Then you plan to lend troops to the Capellans?"
Emma gazed back into the fire. "That I have not decided. The idea has its merits." She paused. "First we will see what Sun-Tzu gives away for nothing." Was that a catch in her daughter's breathing? "After all, his technical advisors and such are only six days from making planetfall. To retain the goodwill he is trying to foster, wouldn't he have to allow us access to them at once?"
Naomi smiled. "Of course, Mother." She waited a minute or so, then began to withdraw from the room.
"One moment, Naomi." The Magestrix kept her voice carefully neutral, as if the question was not all that important. "You mentioned the sunset, and Sun-Tzu's preoccupation with it. It is far into evening now ..." She trailed off speculatively.
Emma Centrella couldn't see her daughter's expression, but the caution in the young woman's voice already told her what she wanted to know before two words were spoken. "We watched the stars come out, Mother. And spent some time just.. . talking."
Emma turned to look at her daughter and gave her a warm smile. "Of course. Good night, Naomi."
The smile lasted a second longer than it took Naomi to close the door on her way out. Emma Centrella's smile did not fade to either anger or sadness, but merely settled into a tighter, more speculative one.
19
DropShip Head of a Pin, Jubilee Spaceport
Jubilee, Marantha
Magistracy of Canopus
The Periphery
22 May 3058
Marcus reached up under his safety glasses to rub one eye free of some dust that had sneaked past the loose seal. The acrid stench of hot-metal work and sweat permeated the Pinhead's 'Mech bay, hanging heavy in the stiflingly warm air. Even the large space-clearing fans set in the open bay door could make little headway, what with the sweltering temperature outside on the landing pad and no breeze to speak of.
The Angels had relocated to Jubilee immediately upon arrival of an MAF garrison force at Indian Island. The Head of a Pin had been left behind to complete loading of salvage, then rejoined the unit the previous evening.
Marcus bent back down over the sheet of armor, cutting torch in hand. He was trying to decide the best way to cut armor for the triangular knee cap-guard on Vince Foley's Enforcer when Jericho Ryan walked up.
A quick turn of the torch's handle shut off the gas flow. Marcus handed it to one of Petrovka's apprentice technicians and stepped away from the work area. All over the bay Angels were cutting armor and hauling myomer bundles out of their storage containers, everyone working to repair the damage taken on Indian Island. Most of the critical work—the repair or replacement of actuators, gyros, or control circuitry—had already been done. Petrovka had directed the final stages of that aboard the Heaven Sent.
"Does your being here mean that I have a full complement of 'Mechs again?" Marcus asked. He spoke loudly—both he and Jericho wore hearing protection in the noisy bay—but still had to repeat himself.
"Sort of," she shouted back with a shrug, but followed it with an impish smile. She beckoned him to follow as she walked back toward the large 'Mech bay doors.
Now what is she up to? Marcus wondered. The Angels had lacked the equipment necessary to repair the cockpit of Karrskhov's Phoenix Hawk after the battle, as well as almost everything needed for the JagerMech. It had only been sheer luck that they'd picked up the arm Petrovka had worried about while traveling through the Free Worlds League. Now the machine required another arm as well as the complete replacement of its fusion engine and gyro. Jericho had volunteered services and supplies from the Jubilee 'Mech yards at the far end of the spaceport as partial payment for the Angels' services.
Walking down the ramp that led outside from the 'Mech bay, Marcus had to shield his eyes from the bright afternoon sun that beat down on the spaceport from Marantha's clear blue sky. For a moment he thought his vision and the sudden bright light were merely playing tricks on him. When he realized that wasn't it, all he could do was keep following Jericho down the ramp.
Standing there on the ferrocrete pad was Karrskhov's Phoenix Hawk, a large, reinforced crate in its massive arms. But it wasn't Charlene's JagerMech standing next to it. The other 'Mech had wide shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. Its hips and knees were heavily reinforced, and Marcus didn't need to see the exhaust ports on the backs of them to know the machine was jump-capable. In a variant of normal BattleMech design, medium lasers had been mounted under each forearm instead of on top.
Two more, protruding from the right and left torso, framed the heavy laser in the center torso cavity. Another deviation from standard designs was a head-mounted LRM-5.
"GHR-5H Grasshopper," Jericho said, glancing over at Marcus, as if wondering about his reaction. "It's fifty years old, but the owner guarantees me it's a solid machine."
Marcus had recognized it immediately, but he knew the MAF would never turn it over to him in exchange for a JagerMech. The Grasshopper was designed for infighting. Equipped with energy weapons and carrying almost twice as much armor as the Jag, a Grasshopper could participate in extended fighting without much worry about ammo. "And the JagerMech?" he asked.
Jericho shook her head. "Too much damage. We couldn't adapt a standard Nissan 260 for the engine compartment, not without downgrading the autocannon-5s to older models. And it will take months to get the correct extra-light engine shipped out here. So, consider this on loan until—and if—we get your JagerMech put back together." Amusement twinkled in her eyes. "This is Major Wood's backup 'Mech. She thought it might make up for abandoning you." The amusement faded. "She also extends her regrets for Karrskhov."
Send them to Charlie, Marcus thought, frowning at the thought of his exec. After the services for Brent, Charlene had publicly criticized Marcus' tactics as too risky, too flamboyant. She thought he could have provided for a wider margin of safety, and had even argued that a straightforward defense of the ordnance facility would have let the Angels hold off
the attackers indefinitely. Defense! Marcus couldn't believe she'd said that.
He'd been trying to calm her when she laid the bombshell on him. Not only did she accuse him of not caring for his people, but she said straight out that he was incapable of caring, period. Marcus had put it all down to the loss she'd suffered, but he could tell from the faces of the other Angels present that a problem might be developing. Dark looks directed at Charlene told Marcus that not everyone agreed with her, but there were enough nods and averted gazes to say that some did.
My job is to keep the Angels together and functioning, he'd told himself then and repeated to himself now. I can't afford to get too close or I'd become as unstrung every time I lose someone as Charlie is now. How many Brent Karrkhovs had there been in the past? How many in the future? Too many for Marcus to shoulder the emotional baggage of losing them all. I do what I can, he wanted to shout.
"Marcus?"
Jericho's look of concern drew him back from the self-recrimination. "Yeah," he said. "Just thinking." He stopped a technician who was boarding the Pinhead. "Send Charlie out here," Marcus told him, then picked up the thread of conversation with Jericho. "A -5H? So this is all factory stock?"
"Well, there's an extended-range heavy laser mounted centerline, there." She pointed up to the cavity. "But that hurts it in close combat. Drives the heat up faster, especially when the mediums come on-line." She paused as if considering, and then continued. "What is it? I caught the worried look. Is there something wrong with the 'Mech?"
"No, nothing wrong with it." Marcus rubbed at the side of his face. "It's Charlie," he said, and gave her a brief version of his exec's sudden shift in behavior.
"Marc, one of your people died on the battlefield. And it was someone she cared about deeply. You've got to expect a little frustration, and as the commanding officer you become the target. As for the others"—she shrugged—"no Mech Warrior likes being reminded of her mortality." She glanced up at the two 'Mechs towering over them like Olympian immortals. "Piloting these things, we start to believe nothing can touch us. The illusion dies hard when we see what happened to Brent."
It's more than that, Jericho. Charlene's calling into question everything we've become since the Clan invasion. Everything I've become. How can I make any of them understand that I can't afford to get too close, not with the decisions I'm forced to make? But of course he knew they could never understand that.
Seeing him still unconvinced, she pointed to the Sparrowhawk grounded fifty meters away from the Drop-Ship. "You command respect from others. Ensign Keppler threatened to resign his commission if not allowed to accompany the Angels." She pulled a folded sheet of flimsy from inside the cuff of her left glove. "Major Wood transferred him to my command, and he'll be coming with us, if that's still all right. I have to tell him it's official, though. Where is he?"
Marcus jerked his head back up toward the DropShip entrance. "Inside, learning how to re-armor a Savannah Master." He shrugged. "Volunteered to help."
"You see? That's what I mean. Your people immediately make Keppler feel a part of the group, and he's ready to follow you into combat That's quite a compliment."
Is that what you see, Jericho? Marcus stared into her brilliant green eyes. I see a young man who wants a taste of revenge and I'm convenient transportation. But whatever the reason, Marcus would be a fool to refuse the air cover. Aloud he simply said, "Maybe you're right. Meanwhile I have to get someone checked out on a Grasshopper."
"More than that," Jericho jerked a thumb back at the box cradled in the Phoenix Hawk's arms. "I'd say you need to find a replacement warrior for a Warhammer as well."
"What do you mean?"
Jericho readjusted the spiked straps belted around her right-hand glove, feigning nonchalance. "I said we couldn't find a Nissan extra-light. However, Major Wood had a new-tech Cataphract salvaged from an earlier raid. And it's powered by a—"
"—a General Motors 280 Extralight," Marcus finished, cutting her off. "You mean it? Wood gave that up?" He thought of the Caesar walking out of the Fortress Class DropShip under its own power, and it sent a chill up his spine. "Jericho, that's great."
"What's great?" It was Charlene Boske coming down the Pinhead's loading ramp.
"Jericho found an engine for the Caesar," Marcus said.
"You're checked out on a Hammer, but there's a Grasshopper if you'd rather have that."
Charlene looked the Grasshopper over with a critical eye. "Tamara Cross would be a better pilot. She likes the larger 'Mechs and she's got a feel for jumping under that much weight." She turned back to Marcus and Jericho. "I want the Hawk."
Should've seen that coming, Marcus thought. He nodded. "You got it. Move Brian Phillips up to my Warhammer. That leaves a vacant Whitworth."
Charlene pursed her lips in thought. "What about the MechWarrior who piloted the Trebuchet! That 'Mech was scrap metal last we saw."
There was no way to tell who was more surprised at Charlene's words, but Jericho recovered first. "Ensign Williams is available for duty. I was going to have to sideline her. Thank you, Charlene."
The Angels' exec shrugged off the thanks. "The Whitworth and Trebuchet are similar designs. And an empty 'Mech doesn't help anyone on the field."
Marcus nodded his own agreement. "Fine. With Jericho's permission concerning Ensign Williams, all three of them run double sim-time until you think they're ready."
"What about you, Commander?"
Marcus stiffened. "If you want to monitor my simulator time, feel free to do so. Warrior readiness is your responsibility." He stared at Charlie and silently dared her to make an issue of it. When she didn't, he turned abruptly to go find Petrovka and nearly collided with one of the DropShip crew hurrying down the ramp. The man handed him a slip of paper, which Marcus opened and read quickly, a smile spreading over his face.
"Jase Torgensson just came down at the Freeburg Spaceport on the southern continent," he announced, grinning now as he looked up at his companions. "He's catching a military shuttle up here. Arrives in a couple hours."
20
Marantha Defense Complex
Jubilee, Marantha
Magistracy of Canopus
The Periphery
22 May 3058
"I came through Ryerson, on t'edge of the Duchy of Audurien. Made a friend at the recharge station who had a slight problem over some gambling debts," Jase Torgensson took a healthy pull at his cigarette, politely blowing it toward the ventilation grill set in the wall of Major Judith Wood's office. His gaze shifted between the two MAF officers present, the major seated behind her desk and Jericho Ryan seated next to it. "He gave me a glance at his noteputer, a file on JumpShips passing through Ryerson not required to file manifest information due to diplomatic or military reasons."
From his chair next to the door Marcus nodded encouragement, well-used to Jase's way of glossing over the more delicate points of his work to hit the important facts. If Major Wood or Jericho couldn't figure out for themselves that Jase had bribed the Andurien officer for confidential information, trying to find evidence of arms smuggling, they'd have to settle for what Marcus eventually would put into an official report. Holding the debrief in Major Wood's office was a courtesy, not a classroom.
It had also been an expedient location after Charlene insisted Jase get checked out by the Canopian Highlanders' medical staff. A decision Marcus had fully supported despite Torgensson's assurances that he was all right. His travels hadn't been kind to him, his upper lip still healing from being split open and the flesh surrounding his left eye a bit puffy and bruised yellow-brown. He had also arrived with his left arm in a pneumo-cast, the air-filled pockets keeping it in a stiff brace to allow a hairline fracture to heal. And he carried a set of stitches on his right shoulder from a knife wound. With his deep, soothing voice and the Scandinavian lilt of a Rassalhague native, Jase usually had an air that was cultured and polished. Now he sounded merely exhausted, his normally impeccable appearance ragged and u
nkempt.
It promised to be an interesting story.
"The 'puter didn't list any JumpShips outside normal traffic except for the Free Worlds League shipping relief foodstuffs to a planet suffering from drought, and the Word of Blake ferrying more of their personnel and equipment to Terra. But it did have an addendum concerning ships to watch for."
"The Adonis!" Charlene asked, making Jase raise an eyebrow over his good eye. "Didn't take much to guess," she said. "We passed through the Andurien system, and someone tried to sabotage our 'Mechs."
Marcus leaned forward in his chair, arms resting on knees. "But the question is who did it? Jase?"
"The Adonis was flagged for immediate communication of whereabouts, to be transmitted to Precentor Andurien"—Jase paused, eyes finding Major Wood's— "and Precentor Sian."
"To be passed straight to Duchess Humphreys of Andurien and Sun-Tzu Liao," Wood said, looking over at Jericho. "I suppose we should be grateful it didn't go to Thomas Marik on Atreus. In fact"—her eyes narrowed— "if we could get conclusive proof that Liao is behind this, the Free Worlds League would be forced to intervene on our behalf."
"Sorry," Jase said. "I got close, but proof I couldn't get." He brandished his arm in the cast. "A bit too close, you might say."
"Keep going, Jase." Marcus could guess what his next move would have been. "You tried to send us a message?"
Jase Torgensson nodded, taking another long drag on his cigarette. "Ja, soon as I cleared the Duchy. Made another friend at the Granera recharge station, next system along, who sent the message over her name instead of mine. Should've reached you well before the Adonis ever left Andurien space."
Charlene shook her head in disbelief. "Would Word of Blake hold us incommunicado? Isn't that dangerous for them, withholding a paid message?"
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