Fortress of Lies

by J. Steven York

  He heard the sound of high heels clicking on the brick behind him, heard their rhythm shift from a fast walk to a run. Something about the urgency in those footsteps gave him pause. He was already about to turn when a voice called his name.

  “Commander Sandoval?”

  He turned and looked down into perhaps the most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen. The woman standing there was tall, graceful, and athletic, yet softly round in the right places. Her long skirt was slit high up one side to display a tantalizing flash of leg, and her wraparound top was simple and elegant, fastened with a large silver pin.

  She was tanned, a few freckles displayed unashamedly on her cheeks; her nose was small and upturned, her lips full, glossy, and the color of pink rose petals. Her hair was long and chestnut-colored, held back with a blue headband. When she smiled, as she was doing now, her eyes sparkled, and as she came close to him, he smelled cinnamon and vanilla.

  In spite of his natural suspicion, he found himself smiling at her, and admiring the way the sunlight glinted off her hair. “Excuse me, have we met?”

  “Not really, Commander, though I’ve seen you before. At the Governor’s Palace a few days ago.” She put out her hand and he took it. Her fingers were long and soft against his battle-roughened skin. “My name is Elsa—Elsa Harrad. I was having lunch with one of the senior staff, and I saw you going into a meeting. As I recall, you looked unhappy.”

  “That could describe most every meeting I’ve had here. I wish I’d noticed you. I’m almost certain it would have made my disposition a little brighter.”

  She beamed, and he found himself enjoying it. A lot.

  “You flatter me, Commander. Though I did find myself wondering why such a handsome man wasted himself on unhappiness, and what I could do to change that.”

  She was laying it on pretty thick, and Erik was buying none of it. A man in his position attracted a certain type of power-hungry female, gold-diggers seeking some advantage. He usually sent them packing immediately—and even when he didn’t, he’d quickly catch them making eyes at the Duke.

  He sensed this woman was not one of those, despite her obvious attempts at manipulation. A politico of some kind? A reporter? Some sort of financial player seeking a hook into his family fortune? Well, whatever she was, he found her exceedingly pleasant, and a game of cat and mouse could be just the sort of distraction he needed to keep this planet from driving him mad. Besides, he thought with a smile, in a game of cat and mouse, sometimes you get the cheese.

  “You know my name.”

  She laughed, and it was like the ringing of tiny bells. “I’m a frequent visitor to the mansion, and everyone there knows you by now. Everyone talks about your proposed accord. Not all positively, I’m afraid.”

  “What about you? What’s your opinion on the matter?”

  She looked apologetic. “You were walking somewhere. I interrupted you. I’m very sorry.”

  “To my hotel, the Fairview.” He gestured.

  “I know where it is. Do you mind if I walk with you? I love the park this time of year.”

  A likely story. “I’d be honored,” he said.

  They struck out along a curving walk that snaked among the low hills. It wound halfway around the shore of a pond, whose waters were navigated by native waterfowl and remote-controlled sailboats piloted by children on the banks.

  The hotel, which had seemed very far just a few minutes before, now looked altogether too close, and he tried to slow his pace. “You were going to tell me how you felt about my accord?”

  She laughed again, and it made him feel warm all over. “Actually, Commander, I don’t have one. I’m very apolitical, and not even local. I’m an art student, and my parents run an interplanetary mining conglomerate. It’s just that somehow I’ve fallen in with a political crowd here.”

  No one just falls in with a political crowd.

  She continued. “Even if I don’t care much for the politics themselves, I find the people fascinating.”

  “I imagine they find you fascinating as well.” I can lay it on thick, too.

  She blushed slightly and averted her eyes. “My social calendar is often very full, I’ll admit.”

  “Then I imagine you’ll be at Senator Prescott’s party tonight.” He grinned. “Please tell me you’ll be at the party tonight.” Somehow he didn’t doubt for a moment that she would be.

  “I think I have an invitation somewhere. But to be honest, the Senator’s parties are a crashing bore.”

  He groaned theatrically. “You’ve just delivered a death sentence. I’m told it’s a political necessity that I attend, and I was grasping at straws.”

  She looked up at him and grinned. It made her lower lip pucker in a most appealing way. “You know, Commander, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that one’s enjoyment of an event depends almost entirely on the company one keeps.”

  “Am I being too hopeful, or was that an invitation to make an invitation?”

  “It might have been.”

  “Then please, would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to tonight’s boring party?”

  “I’ll allow you to escort me,” she said, “but it won’t be boring.”

  It was raining when Erik’s limousine pulled up in front of Elsa’s apartment—an elegant little brownstone perhaps a kilometer from the Capitol complex. A uniformed doorman held an umbrella over her as she slipped gracefully into the car, and Erik couldn’t help admiring how her simple black dress showed off her legs. He felt his heart rate kick up a little, like a soldier going into battle.

  She wore diamonds. A choker, earrings made from clusters of smaller stones, and a bangle bracelet on her right wrist—the sparkles sharp against her tan skin. Her hair was still down about her shoulders, but held back from her face by a pair of diamond hairpins. The complex elegance of her jewelry beautifully offset the simplicity of her dress. He wondered what those diamonds represented. Family heirlooms? A wealthy lover’s gift? The spoils of ill-gotten gain?

  He looked at her. How could anything so beautiful also be so dangerous? Yet the potential danger was part of what made her exciting. Or was it her at all? He’d known warriors who stormed headfirst into danger, simply for the glory and excitement of it. He’d never thought of himself as timid in battle, but throwing himself into danger for its own sake—simply for the thrill, and consequences be damned? He’d never understood such suicidal behavior. Until now.

  But if his interest in Elsa was about courting danger, it also served his legitimate purposes. His mind flashed ahead to the coming party. He thought about what Kinston had said about making an entrance, and smiled. Everyone would be watching him. Everyone.

  “I’m just a simple soldier, Elsa. I don’t have words that can do you justice.”

  She smiled, and for a moment outdazzled every diamond she was wearing. “Commander, you are a soldier, but simple? Never. You honor me.” She settled back in the limousine as casually as one might in a comfortable armchair. She was clearly used to such comforts.

  “That seems to be quite a nice apartment you have. When you said you were an art student, I might have imagined more spartan quarters. Your family—”

  She seemed embarrassed. “People of a certain breeding are not allowed to live in hovels. Part of me wishes I could, just for a year or two. It would be part of the ‘experience.” ’

  He laughed. “I understand more than you know. A Mech Warrior doesn’t live like a foot soldier, of course. But I’m pampered, pulled from the heat of battle to run,” he waved his arms, “diplomatic errands like this one. I’d like, just once, to actually be a simple soldier, answerable only to fate, the fellowship of my equals, and my own skill in battle.”

  “Your uncle keeps you on a tight leash, doesn’t he?”

  He laughed. “Again, you seem to be one step ahead of me. How is that?”

  “The Sandovals are hardly a low-profile family. Plenty of information in the public databases—a great dea
l more about your uncle than you, I’m afraid. Of course, anything since the HPG network went down is sketchy.”

  “I thought you weren’t interested in politics?”

  “I’m interested in people, Commander. I find you very interesting.”

  “Would you stop calling me ‘Commander’? I feel like I should be asking you to salute. ‘Erik’ would be fine.”

  “Erik,” she rolled the name off her tongue. “I like the way it sounds.”

  So do I. He glanced out the car window. They were headed out of the center of the city. “Where are we going? I assume you’ve been there before?”

  She nodded. “Senator Prescott lives in the High Bluff neighborhood. Very exclusive, old money. He’s in the Hereditary House, and it shows. It also explains why I warned this could be a dull party.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s related to the success of your accord. The Hereditary House of Parliament is conservative in all respects. Skeptical of change, terrible dancers. Of course they voted against you.”

  He laughed.

  She continued. “Elected House: mostly new money, self-made men and women, reactionary, volatile, and most can cut a rug with the best of them. They voted with you.”

  “And the Appointed House?”

  “A mixed bag, dominated by whatever the political flavor of the moment is. The current group? Bad dancers coming in, good dancers on the wane, but still holding a power base.”

  “So my real strategy should be teaching people to dance?”

  It was her turn to laugh. She put her fingertips to her lips for a moment, and when she lowered her hand, it fell casually, and lightly, on his knee. “That’s not really my area, but if you want to meet people, that I can help with.”

  “I’ve hired this fellow, Ozark Kinston. You know him?”

  “ ‘O’? Certainly. We move in much the same circles here.”

  “Do you think he knows his stuff?”

  “I believe he does. He has a good reputation among the Senators. I will warn you of one thing though.” She leaned toward him, narrowed her eyes and whispered conspiratorially, “He has two left feet.”

  They laughed together.

  “Commander,” interrupted the driver, “we’re approaching the address.”

  Erik tore his gaze away from Elsa to look out through the windows. The rain had stopped, leaving slick pavement on the steep, winding, tree-lined street. The houses were large, and widely spaced. The streetlights were mounted in filigreed housings, atop slender columns. Ahead, one house in particular was brightly lit, and he could see a large number of people inside.

  “Fashionably late,” said Elsa.

  Erik smiled. “The better to make an entrance,” he said.

  The car pulled to a stop under a temporary awning, set up to protect arriving guests from the intermittent rain. An attendant opened the door, and Erik stepped past Elsa to exit first. He then took her hand and led her from the car. They climbed a short run of red-carpeted steps and passed through an open set of French doors. Ahead, he could hear live music.

  A tuxedoed butler stood at the door, a storklike guardian with his pointed nose. He glanced at a computer pad. “Ah, Commander. Good evening, Miss Harrad—always a pleasure.”

  “Thank you, Carlos. Would you be so good as to announce us?”

  “But of course.”

  She leaned in close to his ear. “You did want an entrance.”

  The butler placed his pad on a podium and stepped through the inner doors into a grand ballroom. “Ladies and gentlemen.” The music faltered, and heads turned. “Commander Erik Sandoval-Groell of Tikonov and Miss Elsa Harrad.”

  Erik took Elsa on his arm, and they swept through the door. People looked and whispered. He felt splendid, and he had certainly made his grand entrance. Dignified old men fell over each other to be the first to greet Elsa, and she addressed each and every one by name. She also skillfully disengaged herself from each—shedding them as easily as a duck sheds water, and leading Erik through the crowd to the bar. Whatever else she is, she’s a smooth social operator, and I can use that.

  The bartender walked over, and Erik turned to Elsa. “I had a local dark whiskey a few days ago. A nice smoky bite, but I don’t remember the name.”

  She glanced at the bartender. “He’ll have a Malvern Black, on the rocks. I’ll have a Firestarter.”

  Erik chuckled. “Are you sure? That’s a MechWarrior’s drink.”

  “I can handle it,” she said. “I have a stomach made of armor. It’s part of what’s kept me from embarrassing myself at these things over the years.”

  He took a proffered tumbler, with its cubes of ice and deep amber whiskey. He held it under his nose, enjoying the woody aroma, then sipped, feeling it burn smoothly down his throat. Either this whiskey was even better than he remembered, or it was a better brand of the same stuff.

  He watched as the bartender mixed two kinds of transparent fluids, followed by a shot of red liquor, and shook the combination before pouring the result into a cocktail glass and garnishing it with a slice of green pepper. He handed it to Elsa, who took a deep sip, licked her upper lip in a way that made him quiver, then smiled. “I will say this for the Hereditar-ies, they do have the best-stocked bars.”

  “Commander!”

  Erik turned in response to the voice, and spotted Ozark Kinston moving toward him from across the room. “I’m glad you could make it”—he glanced at Elsa and smiled—“and I see you arranged for your own escort.”

  “A very fortunate and timely encounter,” he explained.

  “Well,” said Kinston, “indeed. You’re already being seen, mingling, that’s good. Don’t plan on leaving early. I’ll come around later and bring you into a few backroom gatherings. That’s where much of the real business gets done, you know.”

  He looked around the room. “Meanwhile, circulate. You couldn’t have a better guide than Elsa. I have to go set things up.” He took Elsa’s hand and bowed. “I hope you’ll save me a dance for later, my dear.”

  She smiled graciously. “I wouldn’t miss it, O.”

  They watched as he walked away.

  “So,” said Erik, “you’re a diplomat, too?”

  “Many skills are necessary on this battlefield, Erik.”

  Well, now there’s an opening. “Really? I’d like to hear more about that.”

  The band struck up a slow number. Elsa took his hand. “And I’d like to find out how many left feet you have.”

  He smiled. Skillfully dodged. “I’m told I can make a fifty-ton ’Mech seem light on its feet.”

  “It’s your feet I’m more concerned about.”

  “I rarely get to use them. Shall we see what happens?”

  They stepped onto the dance floor and he put his hand around her small waist, feeling the delicate curve of her back through the thin material of the dress. She stepped in close to him, and at the gentle urging of the music, they moved as one.

  For Erik, the evening seemed to fly by. They danced until they were too tired to stand, found quiet corners to talk, then danced again. She was intensely curious about him, especially his most recent adventures. He told her of his defeat on Mara, and how he’d redeemed the situation on Achernar, and of his victories on New Aragon.

  He was careful not to say anything that a spy—or even an interested citizen—might not pick up from other sources, or to provide any current information of strategic value. Yet he found that he enjoyed talking with her. She showed eager interest in his stories of battle and adventure. Though she didn’t say so, he felt she’d lived a safe life—perhaps too safe for her taste.

  He imagined her, pampered and coddled, never really tasting the spice that made life worth living—now off on her own for the first time. What lengths might such a person go to in order to experience danger and intrigue? He’d known soldiers like that—lesser nobles, trained by the finest teachers in the martial arts, seasoned from hundreds of hours in a ’Mech simula
tor, and yet having no comprehension of what real adversity was like—real danger. He knew to watch those soldiers closely, because for each of them would come a moment when they realized they were far too deep in danger, and that it was no simulation, no fantasy, no game. Elsa reminded him of those officers—of someone who was just starting to realize the reality of the situation they’d put themselves in.

  Though he told her freely about his own family and background, he seemed to learn very little about her personally, which bothered him. Not that he hadn’t expected her to be evasive. Soldiers were about the only people in Erik’s day-to-day life who ever spoke the unadulterated truth, and then only because they sometimes couldn’t help it. With nobles, politicians, and diplomats, what came out was shades of deception. He was entirely used to that.

  It was the nature of her evasiveness that both intrigued and frustrated him. Hers was not the calculated evasion of someone seeking advantage or clouding the truth, it was the withdrawal of someone hiding painful emotions. She was, despite her smooth exterior, very human, very vulnerable. He found himself wanting to protect her, and having no idea how. He wanted to know about her. Everything about her.

  Suddenly, he found himself telling her about his troubles with his uncle. It wasn’t a calculated effort to draw her out, it just happened. He reproached himself even as he started. His family problems were of strategic and political value—the sort of thing that could, at the very least, give encouragement and comfort to their enemies.

  Yet, it was liberating, intoxicating—perhaps not in spite of the danger, but because of it—and all the more so because he knew his uncle would be outraged if he knew. But he wasn’t there, wasn’t calling the shots, and Erik needed a confidante.

  He got little in return. She was still close-mouthed about her family and personal history. Yet there was a connection. They shared something in common, even if it was unspoken. He knew in his heart that they were somehow very much alike.

  Later, the tempo of the music picked up, and they danced until they fell, exhausted and laughing, into each other’s arms. Her lips found his, and he was lost. When he regained his senses, he was suddenly aware of how many people were around, and he didn’t want to share her with anyone.