BattleTech : MechWarrior - Dark Age 03 - The Ruins of Power - Robert E.Vardeman (2003)

by Robert E. Vardeman

  The explosion still rang in his ears. The next thing he remembered was racing back to find the TacCom a smoking ruin. Dale was dead.

  The Condor had fired three salvos from Arbalest LRM 15s. The last had been composed of live rounds.

  "He's dead, Father. Dale was blown up. They weren't supposed to use live rounds!" "The instant it was reported, Tortorelli stopped the games," Sergio said, "and I came out in a command car with him." The baron looked even older than he had before. "He's gone, Austin. Dale's dead. There's no question." Sergio turned from him to hide tears.

  "Lieutenant," Austin's technician said, "you're still in armor." Austin let Jurgen help him from his battle armor. He felt a numbness more of mind than of body even after he popped free and stood in his bodysuit beside his father.

  "I should never have agreed to this," Sergio said dully, looking toward the plume of smoke from the wreckage. "Therehas to be some other method for solving our problems if even a simple exercise can go so badly wrong. I lost my son to agame !" "Governor, you have my deepest sympathy. I don't know what could have happened. But it's a training misadventure, a terrible mishap. No one's to blame." Legate Tortorelli puffed himself up and tried to look in control. He didn't succeed.

  "An accident, Legate, a sad, tragic accident that robbed us of a young officer with a bright future," chimed in Lady Elora. "Lieutenant Ortega will be sorely missed. With your permission, Governor Ortega, the Ministry of Information will produce and air a full hour special in tribute to your gallant son." Austin moved from them and went to the edge of a cliff. The battlefield was full of such tactical challenges, all the better for training and preparation. Now the challenge had turned deadly.

  The TacCom had been blown over the edge. If the broadside strike of all fifteen missiles hadn't killed everyone in the TacCom instantly, the fall down the fifteen-meter drop would have. Dizziness hit him like a hammer; then, after a moment, he got his bearings again. People moved around him, but he stood in a bubble. Austin felt as if he had stepped into a graveyard. Everyone stood stock-still, silent, staring at him like a bug under a microscope until Lady Elora spoke.

  "How does it feel to see your brother killed in such a tragic fashion, Lieutenant Ortega?" She stepped closer and bent slightly. He caught a hint of her gardenia-scented perfume and it caused a new wave of dizziness. How dare she ask such a question? Austin wanted to reach out and throttle her, but with her cameras and microphones trained on him, he simply stared at her, willing her away from him.

  "We will interview you later for the tribute," Elora said. Austin walked back to his father's side.

  "As of this instant, Legate," Sergio said, "the First Cossack Lancers is assigned your command.

  The sooner all trace of it is gone from my life, the better." "Governor Ortega," Tortorelli was saying, bowing slightly. His eyes gleamed with the newfound power. "Rest assured, this unit will hold a place of honor among the others and will always be at your service, whenever you need it." "I won't need it," Sergio said flatly.

  Austin's first thought was that his father needed protection now more than ever, but knew that such an argument would never fly. He tried a different approach.

  "Father, Dale wouldn't have wanted the FCL to be transferred," he said. "Keep it in his memory, his honor." Austin saw the set to his father's jaw and knew the answer. There had been little chance before the exercise that he was going to relent. There was none now.

  "The sight of their uniforms would remind me of Dale," Sergio said. "I want to return to the Palace. Will you join me, Austin?" "Soon, Father," he said. "Let me say good-bye." He let his gaze drift in the direction of the wreckage.

  "Very well," Sergio said, walking off stiffly.

  Austin skirted the area Elora had marked off for her own use. She had pushed aside her newscaster and was doing the report herself. Austin couldn't bear to listen.

  With the words "tragic" and "misadventure" ringing in his ears, Austin stumbled away and found the Shandra Manfred Leclerc had ridden during the war games. He quickly swung into the seat, keyed the machine to life, and roared off in the direction of the Condor tank that had destroyed Dale, the TacCom, and its other seven occupants.

  The warm air rushing past his face drove away some of the fog of shock and left Austin more determined by the minute. The dull disk of the distant sun caressed him with lukewarm ruby rays and stole away the aches and pains he had accumulated during the exercise. But nothing took away the pain of losing his brother.

  Dale was no longer here. Dale's strength, his good humor, his carefree outlook, were all gone.

  Forever and ever gone.

  Shock drained from him, replaced by poison that burned at his brain and gut. Hanna had been killed. So had Dale. Austin had to find out why. The faster he drove the scout vehicle, the more determined he became. He had been too intent on taking out the tanks during the battle to know what was really going on all around him. This curious tunnel vision, this intensity of purpose, now focused itself on finding the driver who had fired on Dale and killed him.

  Austin found it easy to locate the Condor tank. It was parked less than a hundred meters from where the TacCom had crashed. Infantry soldiers milled around the Condor, standing near a woman who had flung away her helmet and shook her head, as if denying the world existed.

  "You, you were the tank commander!" he shouted. Austin braked, throwing up a curtain of dirt from the twenty-five-ton vehicle's wheels, and dived from the Shandra. His fists balled and he was ready to hit the woman until she looked up and he saw her haggard, tortured face. He stopped and stared. He had not thought anyone could be more disturbed by Dale's death than he was. Austin slowly relaxed his fists.

  The woman-a sergeant from her insignia-was pale and her hands shook as she wiped dirt from her face. Tears welled but did not run down her cheeks. Austin had seen others in this condition. The tanker was in shock.

  As he had been.

  "You fired the LRMs?" "I didn't know I had live rounds loaded." "They said an entire barrage was tipped with high-explosive warheads," Austin said. He stepped closer. She recoiled, then stiffened, standing her ground.

  "I didn't know!" She tried to speak in a level voice but strain caused it to break. "I fired what was loaded. I thought they were marker rounds. Believe me. Please, Lieutenant!" "What happened? Who loaded your tank?" The sergeant's shoulders hunched over and she began shaking in reaction. "I don't know. Crew back at the depot. Somebody. There was a last-minute check before the exercise, and a rack was replaced. That's all I know." "Leave her alone," said an infantry corporal. He interposed himself between the sergeant and Austin.

  "Do you know who loaded the live rounds?" "It was a mistake. A bad one, but there's nothing anyone can do about it now. Go on. Get out of here. Sir."

  Austin felt a hot flush rising to his cheeks. He had lost his brother. He wouldn't be ordered about, not by an infantry noncom. Then he saw the sergeant and knew none of them had purposely caused Dale's death. It had been exactly as they said.

  A tragic accident.

  Austin thought it was more.

  13

  Palace of Facets, Cingulum Mirach

  25 April 3133

  Austin Ortega stood stiffly in the doorway of his father's office, feeling out of place. The past week had gone by in unreal jerks and starts, stretched like it had been a million years long and, confusingly, blinked by in only a few fleeting hours. Dale's full state funeral had been more of a public spectacle than a tribute, but Austin knew it had been necessary. Dale had been heir apparent.

  The funeral had been about Dale's status and something more. In a split second Austin was in line to become Baron. Only when he was much younger had he considered stepping up to become Baron one day, but with Dale filling his world that had never been more than a childhood game. Now it was likely.

  It seemed especially likely to occur soon when he looked at the Baron. Sergio Ortega had aged a dozen years in the past week and looked a shadow of his former
self. Austin's father had worked through his shock and had done what rituals were necessary at the funeral at great cost to his physical well-being.

  Austin didn't know if it was better having Envoy Parsons delay his departure until after the funeral or not. What report about Mirach would he take back to the Lord Governor? In spite of the chance it was entirely negative, Austin found it hard to work up much curiosity about it. Jerome Parsons had come and gone, his mission cloaked in mystery. How it affected Mirach mattered less to Austin than finding who had substituted live rounds during the exercise.

  Austin's mind turned over the shards of what he knew. Up and down the line it looked like a mistake. A tragic mistake. But he had assured Dale that Hanna's death was only "a tragic accident." Austin understood why his brother had been so reluctant to believe that. There was logic and there was a gut feeling that refused to yield to mere facts.

  Dale's death had to be more. That meant Hanna's was, also.

  Austin had tried to get his father to tell him what Hanna Leong had spoken about during their meeting, but the Baron had built a wall around himself and often went off alone. With the FCL under Tortorelli's command now, Austin found himself cut off from yet another source of information.

  Before, he could have asked the Baron's bodyguard where Sergio went, who he saw, what he did.

  Such information was always confidential, but he could have eased it out of the guards, being a fellow member of the FCL, as well as Baronet.

  Heir apparent. Alone.

  It bothered him how Manfred Leclerc had paid his respects at Dale's funeral and then not been seen since. All alone.

  The Governor's secretary motioned to him from the Armorer's Chamber.

  "They're ready for you, Father," Austin said.

  "It's too bad you can't conduct the news conference for me," Sergio said, heaving himself to his feet, "but that wouldn't do. I'm Governor." The way he spoke made Austin feel as though the weight of a world crushing his father down might cause him to relinquish that duty soon.

  "I would if I could," Austin said, "but they wantyou to speak to them. Lady Elora has the public more upset than they had been." "More rioting. I need to speak to the labor leaders. And that Kinsolving woman. You can do that, Austin." Sergio preceded his son from the office and moved like he was pulled by a string to the conference room where the Ministry of Information and other, lesser news companies had set up cameras for the first formal interview since the funeral.

  Sergio stepped forward, cleared his throat, and began, assuming the reporters were ready-or perhaps not caring.

  "After the sad events of the past week, it is time to forge ahead with solutions to the economic problems facing Mirach. Envoy Parsons has given us hope of aid from The Republic, but it is our responsibility to begin the road to recovery without external assistance."

  Austin wasn't sure if he felt at ease with Marta Kinsolving and other members of the Mirach Business Association joining his father in the press conference. After his father's brief introduction, Elora gave Marta and the others far more coverage-Austin could tell by looking past Lady Elora to where her seedy director sat at a console.

  Small vidscreens monitored each camera in the room before relaying a combined multiphase signal to the broadcast studio at the Ministry of Information. For every minute on-air Elora accorded the Governor, she gave three to the MBA officials, as if they were of equal rank and had more important things to say.

  If Sergio said something, Elora cut to Benton Nagursky for a reaction shot. If Marta took the center stage, Elora did not cut away. Austin found himself wishing he could speak with his father's advisers and somehow edge Elora out of her coverage. Her position as Minister made this difficult, but Austin wanted to try. He had suggested her removal to his father and had hit a stone wall, as if nothing could be changed now. But it had.

  Heir apparent to the governorship of Mirach, Baronet Austin Ortega. He took a deep breath and knew he had to develop his own staff and governing style.

  "As a result of the transfer of my personal guard to Legate Tortorelli's command," Sergio Ortega said, catching Austin's eye and bringing his attention back to the crowded office and the reason for the conference, "money in the Governor's budget has been freed. With Ms. Kinsolving and the cooperation of the Mirach Business Association, we have devised a bold plan to use Mirach's four moons as communications relay points. This will link every point on-planet with any other within seconds. The HPG net might have gone down between planets in The Republic, but we will not be denied rapid, dependable communications.

  "Ms. Kinsolving," Sergio said as he turned the mic over to the auburn-haired CEO of All WorldComm.

  "The funding," Marta Kinsolving said forcefully, "will be adequate to establish the first-ever planetary comm net for Mirach." She began to detail the reasons, the costs, and the technology, but Austin found himself interested more in the woman than in her speech. Marta wasn't a beautiful woman, but her energy and determination held his attention. He decided it had to do with the confidence she exuded, as much in herself as in the project. By fully funding All WorldComm to run what Marta called Span-net, the Governor had given her a preeminent position among the members of the MBA.

  If she hadn't already been atop that heap. Austin saw how Boris Chin deferred to her and even bellicose Benton Nagursky often yielded the microphone to Marta as questions came from the reporters about MBA participation and the hope for new jobs planetwide.

  Austin began to wonder about the MBA and what political aspirations its members had. He knew next to nothing about the ancient, translucent-skinned Dr. Chin other than he was a respected, often brilliant plant genetics researcher, but Ben Nagursky had a reputation for ruthlessness and removing anyone who stood in his way. For Marta Kinsolving to run with these wolves, she had to be equally brilliant-and merciless. This thought set off a chain reaction in his head that led back to Dale's death.

  Someone had purposefully mislabeled the deadly missiles, and he doubted it was any of Tortorelli's command. Gaining control of the FCL was quite a coup for Calvilena Tortorelli, but it had been announced and seemed less of a motive than Marta Kinsolving's. She, her company, and the MBA were profiting handsomely. The money to finance her Span-net could have been tied up in legislative session for another year if Sergio had not seen fit to push through the appropriations. She, or AWC, certainly profited both mightily and quickly. But Dale's death had not been linked to this.

  Austin frowned as he worried over motives.

  An angry whisper drew his attention away from Marta to Lady Elora. She chewed out her director for missing some small detail in a camera angle. The Minister of Information had benefited from covering the war games and Dale's subsequent death. The news had become the top-rated show on the air, and along with the growing audience came Elora's new and less subtle jibes about the Governor and his ability to rule-his inability to rule.

  There had been scattered riots in other cities since Dale died, but Austin knew that it was only a matter of time before the cork popped. He felt tensions mounting whenever he went into Cingulum. Elora urged the people to test the boundaries of the law to find out if The Republic and its rulers were still best for the people of Mirach.

  Austin couldn't tell what had sparked Elora's wrath, but the director wilted under it. Barnaby worked frantically to alter settings, to move cameras around, and finally to send the full transmission back to the Ministry of Information.

  Final statements were read and the news conference wound down when his father said, "Thank you, Ms. Kinsolving. We look forward to the near future-the very near future-of virtually instantaneous communication." The small crowd of reporters erupted with questions, but Sergio said decisively, "We have no further comments. Thank you all." Sergio left the impression that Span-net was better than the HPG, although Austin knew that wasn't possible. But he wondered if the AWC project would bypass Lady Elora and the stranglehold she had gained on the dissemination of news.

  "
Son," Sergio said to him as he started toward the door, "I've got a cabinet meeting. It's always the Ventrale Coalition that gives me headaches and this time is no different. See to the matter we discussed, will you?" Before Austin could do more than nod, his father rushed off, talking earnestly with his Minister of Mining and Energy. Austin stepped back and let Elora's crew carry their equipment out. They were gone in less than five minutes. Marta remained behind, huddled with Nagursky and Chin.

  "My father's going to be in the cabinet meeting for some time," Austin told them, thinking they were waiting to see the Governor.

  "We have nothing more to do here. Thank you, Baronet," Dr. Chin said, bowing the barest amount in Austin's direction. Nagursky grunted as if someone had poked him in the belly, jerked his head in the direction of the door, and left with the aging geneticist. Marta leafed through a stack of papers, put them into a folder, and started to leave.

  Austin hesitated, then stepped forward. "Is there any way I can help out?" he asked.

  Marta's eyebrows arched. Her brown eyes fixed on him.

  "I can handle my own paperwork, thank you." "You promised me a tour of AWC while we waited for Envoy Parsons at the DropShip field." Austin saw her heave a deep sigh of resignation; then she smiled.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to appear so reluctant. It's just that my time's being eaten by the Span-net project. Work piles up when I'm not at my desk digging away at it. And of course, there's hardly been time for you, has there? I'm sorry for your loss." Austin thought she sounded sincere but wasn't sure he should take her at her word. He moved through dangerous minefields and didn't know friend from foe.

  "Thank you," he said. "Your earliest convenience would suit me." "Is your father assigning you as liaison on the Span-net project?" "I'm doing all I can to take some of the load off his shoulders," Austin answered.

  "Come along now if you can get away. I have to check the labs to be certain all the fine gadgets I just promised can be manufactured and delivered on time."