Rashier nodded. "I see."
The caliph seemed to be considering the request now, but Marcus was certain it had more to do with how much more Srin-pasha could get out of this. "I understand that there might be additional expenses in contacting the various desert tribes. Also that the practice of ransoming is common with them. I cannot promise much more at this time, but I will repay you however I can."
"Of course," Rashier said smoothly. "After all, the equipment you have aboard the Heaven Sent is necessary to maintain your own machines." He waited for Marcus, who nodded in relief. "But we might regain your other ship once we defeat the dog Shervanis, yes?"
Even under the hot afternoon sun, Marcus felt a cold chill as Rashier mentioned the Pinhead with so little regard. Does he want the DropShip? A more worrisome question surfaced. If he does, what is there I could do about it? "Yes, Caliph Rashier, we might." He swallowed hard. "But right now such material thoughts are of secondary importance to locating my people."
Caliph Rashier smiled broadly. "We shall see what we can do."
Marcus nodded his thanks and turned away before Rashier could read his thoughts from his face. I would give up the Pinhead to save even one life, Caliph, and if that is the price to pay for dealing with the devil, then so be it. But never forget, Lucifer was a fallen angel who rose to power again in hell.
He glanced around at the hot, dry land his Angels had come to. And by now we're halfway there.
32
"The Nook" Oasis
Shaharazad Desert, Astrokaszy
The Periphery
1 July 3058
Steep, sheer walls of rock rose up on three sides, the rim of a box canyon cutting into the clear night sky above the Shaharazad Desert. The cliffs looked gray-black under the thin sliver of Astrokaszy's only moon, which hung above them with its mocking Cheshire grin. Just as the high walls provided shade during the sunlit hours, now they held in some of the daytime heat to ward against the serious chill of a north-desert night.
The dying embers of what had been a huge bonfire threw a reddish cast over the faces of those sitting around it. Against the dark skin of the Astrokaszy natives, it lent an almost golden hue. And it probably makes me look beet red. Charlene set her plate aside, only half finished. The spiciness of the curried meat burned her mouth too much to continue.
A veiled woman quietly stepped forward out of the darkness to remove the plate while another one refilled Charlene's cup with fermented goat's milk. Charlene felt uncomfortable, surrounded by men who looked at her with disquieting expressions. The suspicion and the hostility she could deal with, but the more important warriors viewed her with amusement. As they might a child playing at adult games. She wasn't sure how to handle that, except to match it with constant reminders that she was a warrior as well.
Twisting around—slowly, to attract the attention of every man seated about the fire—she waved twice toward the Vulcan 'Mech standing at the outskirts of the camp like some silent sentinel. Just back from it stood the shadow-giant forms of Charlene's Phoenix Hawk and three of the desert warrior 'Mechs. The fourth machine in the lance she'd met earlier that day stood guard at the canyon entrance. Chris stood a similar guard here, ensuring her safety against all others in the camp. Even if set upon by another BattleMech, one blast from Chris' fusion-powered flamer and the camp and all its inhabitants would be cinders. But rather than take offense at her indirect threat, several of the desert warriors nodded their approval of her caution.
Aidar Sildig leaned forward over the glowing coals, his face lit up like some kind of solemn jack-o-lantern. He'd led the lance that had first run off the raiders and then brought her here, to the camp of the Desert Wind warrior tribe. "Charlene, what do you think of our home?"
Charlene glanced around at the seated men, many of whom wore mustaches and long beards. She knew the bearded man seated directly across from her on an enormous pillow was the sheik—their ruler. Aidar had not given his leader's name during introductions, and the man had said maybe three words to her since her arrival. You are welcome, as she recalled, which could be taken any of several ways.
Aidar had carried on most of the conversations since her arrival, and earlier had shown her around the camp. The desert warrior's skin had tanned to the point that he looked like a native, but his speech gave him away as not being of Astrokaszy. He admitted to having been a member of a mercenary company that had come to Astrokaszy ten years ago in search of the rumored Star League-era base. They had never left. Caught up in the wars between caliphs, the unit was ground down until a fortunate few managed to escape into the desert. He'd eventually been adopted by the Desert Wind tribe.
His story still sent a chill racing along Charlene's spine, hitting a little too close to home. "Surprising," she said, finally answering his question about what she thought of their home. "And efficient." She glanced out into the darkness, where the first circle of tents were barely visible in the fire's glow. Further back she knew would be a slapdash corral that held goats, sheep, and horses.
"You are well-protected in here," she continued. "But you're ready to move as needed. I've seen nothing that couldn't be relocated rather easily, especially with the carriers you've rigged up for your BattleMechs."
The compliment was deserved, and the men knew it. The carriers were giant metal baskets that could be fixed to the back of a 'Mech like a backpack and others that were meant to be carried by either hand grips or cradled in a BattleMech's arms. As Aidar explained it, the entire camp, livestock included, could actually be loaded onto the four aging BattleMechs and relocated faster than any other method. A few of the more hostile gazes softened a bit with Charlene's acknowledgment, but the suspicion and the amusement remained.
"And our machines? What about them?"
Charlene pursed her lips, considering her next few words carefully. "I am impressed with how you've managed to keep them up." And that much was true. On returning to the oasis, nestled within this canyon on the outskirts of the badlands, the desert people had begun to tear down the Vindicator for salvage. Tools were carefully handled, as their replacement would be difficult at best. Others began to work on the light armor damage done to the Shadow Hawk. The Enforcer acted as a gantry, lifting a platform to the level so that the nomads' technical people could work. Another of the desert BattleMechs, the Panther, had held up a winch and boom assembly that could be used as a crane to bring in and hold armor plates and the like in place for welding. Efficient and totally self-reliant. But. . . "But they're falling apart. Without the kind of major overhaul they could only get in a 'Mech yard, natural systems failure will claim them eventually. And if the raiders had put up any kind of fight, I doubt you could have escaped today without one 'Mech being reduced to walking scrap."
One of the Mech Warriors jumped up at her blunt words and was prevented from leaping over the coals only by Aidar's restraining hand. Most of the men began to refute her claim, their voices clamoring with one another in an attempt to be heard. Then the sheik leaned forward and slashed the air with an imperious gesture and a shout of "Enough!"
The clamor died away quickly. "What the woman says is true," he said, then lapsed back into silence.
Aidar picked up the conversation from there. "We do what we can. We raid other desert tribes, and when the caliphs are foolish enough to send a patrol into the desert we raid them. But it is not enough. That is why we always look for those who might wish to join our family. Just as a family needs new blood, it also needs new machines."
They mean me. "No offense, Aidar, but I don't plan to stay. I need to locate what I can of my own people and try to find a way off Astrokaszy." She paused, then addressed the circle of men. "I would think you would all be doing the same thing. You are MechWarriors. From what Aidar has explained, there are at least thirty men in this camp able to pilot all four of your BattleMechs. If you could get back to the Inner Sphere, or even out into another Periphery state, you might be offered the chance to pilot a 'Mech again."
"In service to someone else and for their cause," said a man Charlene had not heard speak before. "That is no future."
Charlene frowned. "And this is?"
"This is a hard land." Aidar gazed down into the fire. His voice lowered to almost reverent tones. "It tests us. But somewhere there is the promised treasure that will deliver to us the power to bring down the caliphs and their petty kingdoms."
You've been here far too long, Aidar Sildig. "You're talking about the rumors of a Star League base?"
Aidar nodded.
Charlene shook her head sadly. "Almost every planet I've ever been to has a similar legend. Chances are it doesn't exist."
Aidar said nothing, and so the sheik answered for him. "It exists. And until it is found we grow stronger in our purpose."
It all sounded to Charlene like pseudo-religious babble that the Astrokaszy natives used to entrap mercenaries like Aidar. Help us find the treasure, and we shall all have our reward. She held back any sharp retort, however. If it gives them something to believe in, I have no right to ridicule it. It's only because I believe in the Angels that I have no other need of a religion. Then the humor of the thought struck her and Charlene grinned, wondering if Marcus had intentionally chosen the name of the Angels for any similar reasons.
Aidar mistook the sudden shift in her mood for agreement with the sheik. "You would consider it?"
"Hmm? Oh, no. Aidar, I'm sorry, but I have responsibilities to my people. If any of them survive, they'll be waiting for me to contact them."
Aidar glanced toward his sheik, who stared back with impassive eyes. "Some of your mercenaries have been taken in by another tribe. Three, possibly four."
Charlene jumped up, fists clenched, then quickly turned to wave an everything's all right to Chris in his Vulcan before returning an angry glare at Aidar and then the Desert Wind sheik. "Why didn't you mention this earlier?"
The old man held out a hand to silence Aidar, and turned his gaze on Charlene. The embers of the fire danced in his eyes, giving them almost demonic light. "Because I know what it is to find yourself abandoned on this planet. I was left here thirty years ago, part of a mercenary force the Free Worlds League abandoned when its peace-keeping mission failed. A rival tribe has just added three BattleMechs to their strength, and it is my duty to increase my own strength accordingly. If not for your warrior's instinct that left a man on guard, I would have killed you both just for your machines."
The depth of the man's feeling came through in his words and sent a thrill through Charlene. Brutal honesty could be very effective. But instead of being intimidated, she felt pity for the aging warrior. "Why fight with other tribes? Have you never thought that by allying yourself with them you could actually rival one of the caliphs?"
"One, yes." Aidar reentered the conversation at a nod from his ruler. "Not Shervanis, but perhaps any of the others. But to do so means to trust the other tribes, which we do not. And we would also have to gather our forces together, which would make us vulnerable. Out here in the desert, we can survive."
"You mean you can hide." Charlene was being deliberately inflammatory now, but she wanted these people's attention. "The caliphs obviously get first shot at anything landing on Astrokaszy, and that's not counting the raiders currently helping Shervanis. They'll always be ahead of you in this race. If you don't take more direct action, they'll always be the stronger."
"You think this?" The sheik lounged back on his giant cushion. "Perhaps you are right. But you do not know all our resources, warrior Charlene."
Charlene sat back down, keeping the sheik's attention with a level gaze. "Maybe not. But I can offer you something you seem unable to reach on your own. If you help me contact the Angels, I guarantee you they will not remain with your rivals. That solves one of your problems. And if you allow me to regroup here, in the safety of this canyon, I will do you two more services."
"You have my attention."
"We still have one DropShip out in the desert somewhere. The Heaven Sent. I don't think Shervanis got it because the raiders are still jamming the frequencies it would use to contact us. It can provide you with the facilities needed to overhaul your machines. Then, once we report back, I think I can promise you that other forces will be following us to put an end to Shervanis and his allies."
The sheik sounded amused. "So the Angels promise us succor against our rivals, the use of a ship known as the Heaven Sent, and eventual deliverance." He smiled and then laughed, a full and rich baritone. "Perhaps our time is indeed at hand."
Growing serious then, he sat up and fixed Charlene with a thoughtful look. "Word shall go out tomorrow," he promised. "And in the meantime, I think it would be good for you to see something of our true strength."
Charlene nodded carefully, unsure of what she might be getting into, but glad to have some amount of support. "I would be honored." I think.
"Good. Aidar will organize a raid, and you will participate. I shall order your 'Mech rearmored. If what Aidar told me is true about these new machines of Shervanis out in the desert, then it is time to remind him of why he has walls about his palace."
33
City of Rashier, Rashier Caliphate,
Astrokaszy
The Periphery
4 July 3058
The square was noisy with the hawking cries of vendors as they held up their produce for general inspection. Most of them worked out of wheelbarrows or carts, with only one or two of the nearby buildings used in any manner of organized commerce. A few merchants sold dry goods such as whole cloth or ready-made garments, but most of the trade was in the food staples people needed to simply live from day to day on Astrokaszy. None of it looked well-kept, the heat of the day browning leaves and sucking the moisture out of anything not kept carefully shaded. The sweet fragrance of ripe fruit hung over the market square, teasing passersby and promising relief from thirst or hunger. But underlying that was the acrid scent of sweat and the sickly sweet odor of overripened and spoiled produce.
Marcus paused over a bin of blood-oranges. Like everything else on Astrokaszy, even what looks promising has the stink of decay not far beneath the surface. He picked carefully, digging under the first layer of softer fruit to grab a firm blood-orange that had been protected from the sun. He handed it to Jericho and dug for another. The owner of the cart didn't object, but the slight scowl on her dark face showed that she wasn't thrilled over Marcus' careful shopping either. Not until he pulled out a C-bill and offered it to her. She snatched it from him, giving him a thin, yellow-toothed grin as she dug into a change purse for Astrokaszy coin. Marcus didn't give her the chance to cheat him on local currency values. "Keep it." That seemed to soften her hard expression, though he couldn't be sure.
"You're generous," Jericho said, peeling her fruit with the benefit of slightly longer fingernails. Some juice shot out from beneath her fingers, drawing a dark line across the front of the coveralls she'd borrowed from a technician aboard the Heaven Sent. Marcus had opted for simple trousers and a loose shirt, but he wore his white neo-leather jacket draped across his shoulders like a cape, protecting his neck and arms from the sun's burning rays.
He shrugged, quartering his own orange with a pocket-knife. "I've lost people who can never be replaced and machines worth millions of C-bills each. When I get off this dustball—if I ever do get off it—whatever's left of the Angels will be facing bankruptcy. A few C-bills hardly matter."
Jericho still winced. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, then walked along for a moment in silence. She watched as Marcus bought a handful of dates from a vendor, again paying with a C-bill and then handing half of them to her. "I haven't seen a lot of scrip changing hands here. I'd have thought that off-planet currency wouldn't be worth as much, but these people treat it like gold."
"Well, I doubt Canopian dollars would spend well here, or even League Eagles. The caliphs control currency flow, so they underrate money that's hard for them to spend."
Jericho nodded.
"And C-bills are easily spent at an HPG station."
C-bills, or ComStar-bills as they were originally called, were the one common medium of exchange throughout the Inner Sphere and Periphery. They weren't backed by precious metals, but instead were promissory notes for time in hyperpulse generator communications. The faster-than-light communications administered by ComStar and Word of Blake was all that kept a civilization spanning thousands of settled worlds from fragmenting beyond repair. Even an isolated world like Astrokaszy maintained some ties to other worlds, Marcus thought. And while the presence of a Word of Blake HPG station—even a minor one—had surprised him, he could see that the stronger caliphs did have need of it. But she doesn't really understand.
"Partly." Marcus bit into a segment of the reddish-orange fruit. It was sweet and quenched his thirst even better than water. He strained the juice out, then bit the pulp from the rind to finish eating it. "Let's say you rule a caliphate," he said. "If there are C-bills circulating in your caliphate, how do you work the exchange so you get the best deal at both ends? You need to get them from your people, but you don't want to give Word of Blake a high margin in the exchange rate."
"You couldn't do that. Get the best from both ends. Unless . . ." she trailed off.
"Unless you coined the local currency," Marcus reminded her.
Jericho stopped walking, holding a section of blood-orange halfway to her mouth but apparently forgotten. "The caliphs just coin some extra money and buy the bills from their people? But that further undervalues their own system."
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