As they walked down the long corridor running the length of the office wing of the Palace of Facets, Austin was aware of eyes on them. Without being too obvious, he caught sight of several soldiers clad in the forest green of Tortorelli's Home Guard trying not to be seen as they spied. Austin wasn't sure if he was pleased that the Legate had assigned guards to the Palace. Why were they acting more like snoops than as guards?
Austin and Marta stepped out the west door into the breezy afternoon. The sun was setting, a huge gravid red blob on the hazy horizon. Clouds had moved in off the ocean and promised rain, but at this time of year Austin knew those clouds probably lied. Cingulum wouldn't see significant rainfall until the monsoon season began in the fall.
"I'll order a car and-" he began.
"You can ride with me. It's a company car," Marta said.
Austin swallowed. The sleekly aerodynamic white limo looked as if it were a block long with enough room in the rear for everyone in the Palace. A door opened silently and Marta ducked in.
Austin followed, to settle down opposite her in a soft leather seat that was almost sinfully comfortable.
"I'm more used to the cockpit of a BattleMech." He saw her sharp reaction. "I meant the BattleMech simulator," Austin hurriedly amended. It's made by AWC, isn't it?" "Made by one of our units. There's not much call for them anymore." Marta relaxed a little, but Austin saw he had thrown her off stride.
"Tell me about Span-net. Will it really replace the HPG?" "Of course not," Marta said, still guarded. "We will gain almost instantaneous person-to-person contact, though. All comm now goes through a few choke points at ground-based relays." Austin almost added, "Monitored by the Ministry of Information," but refrained. He heard this in Marta's description even if she didn't say it straightforwardly.
"Span-net will go around those bottlenecks?" he asked.
"To one of the four moon stations, then back. With a network of relays on-world as well as in orbit, we can handle a millionfold more traffic than the current system, permitting personal video comm as well as commercial content, all in a single handset."
"Will Lady Elora permit this?"
"She might be Minister of Information but she has no say-so over private industry. With your father's blessing-and funding-the Ministry of Information will be relegated to a lesser role than it enjoys now."
Austin leaned back and wiggled a little in the soft leather as he considered this. After the announcement today, AWC would become the target of Lady Elora's propaganda if Marta did not move swiftly to get the necessary equipment in place.
"It will revolutionize communications on Mirach," Marta said.
"But it's not HPG," Austin said.
"No," Marta said, her tone a little more hostile than before. "Since we can't depend on The Republic, we'll rely on our own technology. Span-net willnot fail the way the HPG did." After such a bold statement and one reflecting what she thought of The Republic, Marta fell into generalized statements, stolen more from a PR campaign. Austin was glad he had glimpsed, if only for a moment, Marta's true feelings.
She was no supporter of The Republic. Did that mean she would sell out the Governor, given the chance? Where did her allegiance lie? Austin thought Jacob Bannson was a possible candidate.
Bannson would approach entrepreneurs, being one himself, and he had asked Sergio to consider a trading post. Perhaps the Governor moved too slowly and Bannson sought another foothold on Mirach, using the MBA.
Austin knew he was only guessing. But he would find that out, for the good of Mirach, just as he'd find out if Marta Kinsolving had anything to do with Dale's death, for his own peace of mind.
14
Ministry of Information, Cingulum Mirach
25 April 3133
Lady Elora's face glowed in phosphorescent green light as she hunched over her desk in the windowless office. Half a dozen monitors winked on and off around her, each responsive to her silent command. There was space on the desktop for writing or spreading out documents, but the rest was a gently banked surface covered with vidscreens and controls that allowed her to tap into any feed from any camera sent out by the Ministry, to observe and edit or spy. Her long, bony fingers danced over the controls, shifting restlessly from one view to the next. Nothing transpired in the Ministry of Information without her approval and overview.
In spite of such tight control, Elora still felt neglected, out of the loop, talked about behind her back by her inferiors. Sitting in her sparse room, she could toil over her spy equipment and compile a list of those who opposed her. And it was such a long list.
She hesitated when a screen showed Legate Tortorelli with three aides-she knew they were bodyguards rather than advisers because Ministry sensors revealed their sheathed weapons as surely as if they were carried in plain sight-bustling along the hallway two levels below her office. The Legate had breezed through security at street level and was on his way to see her, reaching the foot of the restricted-access escalator coming directly to the top floor of the Ministry Tower, where Elora built her electronic nest.
"Let the Legate in," she said, her index finger lightly brushing across a pressure switch. "Keep his guards in the reception area."
She received no response and had expected none. Her staff was capable, except when it came to complex tasks. She still fumed that Hanna Leong had gone missing for the better part of two days before she had been permanently removed. Wherehad she been? Or did it matter, now that Dale Ortega was gone, too? Such thorny questions stalked her waking moments.
Elora took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. It was time to prepare for the Legate's unannounced visit.
Quick fingers worked over the controls, causing screens to vanish silently into the surface of her desk, leaving behind only faint seams to betray the hidden monitors. A single vidscreen showing the current Ministry newscast remained visible at one side of her desk. Elora leaned back in her chair, pushing aside the feeling of nakedness. So much happened when she wasn't personally monitoring it, guiding it, exploiting it.
This was the price of dealing with Calvilena Tortorelli. He was a bothersome but necessary evil.
Her office door whispered open, and the portly Legate bustled in.
"Calvy!" she greeted with false bonhomie. "So glad you stopped by." "Elora," the Legate said, sounding frightened. She guessed he was not happy having his bodyguards detained two stories below. "Forgive me for not calling ahead, but matters have been churning about me so. Terrible things, simply terrible!" "Please, sit down. I-" Lady Elora recoiled when Tortorelli interrupted her.
"Is this room secure?"
"Yes, it is," she said carefully. "What's wrong?"
"No windows?" he asked. "You're on the top floor of a fifty-story building and you don't have any windows?" "Security risks, Calvy. You know that. A laser shining against a glass pane turns the window into a microphone transmitting for everyone to hear."
"What I wish to discuss is highly sensitive. Highly." "I live by the credo that walls have ears, Calvy," she said, beginning to wonder what was so important. Whatever it was, it clearly frightened him.
"What I have stumbled across must be kept in the strictest confidence. If anyone else learned what I have uncovered, well, let's say Mirach would be damaged severely." Elora considered what this might be and decided she had to divert him, if the Legate brought her the information she suspected from his behavior.
"Tell me, Calvy. You know I can keep a secret." "Baronet Dale's death," he said in a husky whisper. "It wasn't accidental." "Calvy,you assassinated the Baronet?" she said with mock surprise.
"What are you saying, woman? No, no, not me. But I found the man who substituted the live missiles. A security camera recorded him. He wasn't in my service and he certainly was not in the FCL." Elora said nothing about the haphazard way Tortorelli had planned the war games and how he had spread authority over too many junior commanders. What bothered her was how the assassin had been caught in the act on camera.
"You've arrested him? Turned him over to the Baron? No, he should go to the civil authorities," she said.
"He vanished, Elora. Gone. Like smoke. But the Baron will think I knew about it."
"Who else knows?" she asked. "Of the pictures and the assassin?" "A handful of technicians. And their commander." "Scatter them around the planet, Calvy," she said. "Transfer them and keep them separated.
Promote the officer; make it a staff position where you can watch him. You dare not let a hint of this get out." "But I don't know who he is. Was. Oh, Elora, this is a nightmare!" "One easily handled by an experienced commander such as yourself," Elora said soothingly.
She considered how difficult it would be to remove all the witnesses, and decided eliminating one careless employee was better than creating questions over the death of half a squad in the Home Guard.
"I should tell the Baron. I had nothing to do with this, he needs to know, and that other son of his keeps asking questions." This signed the assassin's death warrant. Elora didn't know how it would be done, but it had to be done soon. And it would.
"Would Sergio be better off if you went to him? I think there might be more to the Baronet's death than you think, Calvy. See what I've uncovered?"
She touched a spot on the surface of the desk. The small screen at the corner of her desk turned toward the Legate like a radar unit seeking its target. "This was recorded after the Baron's news conference by accident and might shed light on whom the assassin works for. We were doing a feature on industries vital to Mirach. Of course, I had to do a significant portion on AllWorldComm." "Of course," Tortorelli said, squinting at the screen, trying to figure out what he was seeing.
"Ms. Kinsolving and Austin Ortega earlier today were touring the AWC assembly area when this was recorded." Her Ministry's best technicians had spent long hours putting this snippet together to garner the maximum effect.
"I'm no expert, mind you," Elora said slowly, "but it sounds as if they are discussing the political stability of Mirach and that Ms. Kinsolving is disparaging your attempts to maintain order." "Why, I-" Tortorelli sputtered a bit. "It does sound that way. She's almost advocating outright rebellion! And to the Governor's own son!"
"Austin is a bit naive when it comes to sedition," Elora said. "Or perhaps not. After all, who has benefited most from Dale Ortega's death?"
"Baronet Austin is next in line of succession," Tortorelli said, reaching the conclusion Elora wanted. "But that was his own brother!" "Ambition knows no bounds," Elora said. "Hewas on the battlefield and could have aided the assassin in getting to the LRMs. And he certainly knew where the TacCom was every instant of the exercise."
"But his own brother!" exclaimed Tortorelli.
"This discussion might be innocent. As I said, this is only a tiny portion of their long conversation." "The Governor must be told of this immediately. Send a copy to-"
"Please, Calvy," Elora said, motioning him to silence. She let him stew a few seconds before continuing. "I'm not sure alerting Baron Ortega is the proper thing to do. If his son hasn't mentioned how the AWC and probably the MBA are conniving, or at least criticizing, behind his back, I'm not sure it is our place to do so. And we have no proof of anything more. Such as fratricide." Elora paused again, as if considering what more to say.
"What is it, Elora? There's something you're not telling me." "The MBA has refitted IndustrialMechs," she said bluntly. "To protect their property, they say.
Those infernal devices can be turned against the rioters-or legitimate military forces." "Then it might be rebellion?" Legate Tortorelli looked stunned. "It all makes sense. The MBA uses their 'Mechs against my forces to gain power. If the Baron resists, they kill him and install the Baronet." "But we can't prove it, and to say a word to the Baron might endanger us all."
"No! I have the forces to fight even refitted IndustrialMechs. It would be a fearsome battle, but they won't seize power that way!" "You're the commander to do it, Calvy. You have experience fighting against BattleMechs off- world. But the need may not arise. All my guesses might be wrong." Elora's mind raced. She had to eliminate her pet assassin, but perhaps not yet. Not until after one final job.
"This will be difficult to keep quiet," Tortorelli said. "Such a vast conspiracy. The Baron's own son. The MBA. Who knows where else the threads of sedition stretch?" "Where, indeed?" Elora said.
15
HQ of the Legate
Mirach
26 April 3133
"Emergency meeting," barked a colonel. "Hurry up!" Manfred Leclerc turned and looked to the officer, thinking the order had been addressed to him.
A half dozen senior officers walked quickly to the elevator at the end of the hall, flashed their passes to the guard, and were admitted in threes and fours. The rest waited impatiently for the express elevator to go to the Legate's briefing room and then return for them. Manfred joined the small knot of officers waiting to be whisked forty stories up to hear what Tortorelli had to say.
Another officer, an infantry major, turned and looked at Manfred, giving him the once over from boots to collar insignia. His gaze stopped there.
"You're not required to be at the meeting, Captain," the major said.
Manfred looked around, thinking the officer spoke to someone else. When he realized he was being addressed, he said, "I'm senior officer, First Cossack Lancers. Unless there's some reason, I should be in on the briefing." The major and three others showed their IDs to the guard sergeant. Manfred followed, only to have the guard thrust out a hand and gently push him back.
"Sorry, sir, not you. Your clearance isn't sufficient." The infantry major flashed Manfred a nasty grin as the doors hissed shut and the elevator launched itself for the conference room.
"Who's supposed to attend? I just transferred in." "I know, Captain Leclerc." The guard was an immovable object.
Manfred backed off. He didn't like the noncom touching him the way he had, but the sergeant was only following orders. That didn't make Manfred feel any better. The Mirach security force was small, considering the size of the population, and the addition of the FCL significantly augmented the military's power.
He knew better than to make a scene. Instead, he found a desk and settled down behind it as if he belonged there. Less than an hour later, the elevator doors opened and began disgorging the officers who had attended the Legate's emergency conference.
Manfred pretended to be hard at work on a stack of papers, but he never even read what they were. His full attention fixed on the loose-lipped officers. He kept from grinning when the infantry major stopped not a meter away to talk with a tank commander.
"I tell you, Captain," the major said to the woman. "You'll have every last one of your Behemoths in the field before autumn." "It didn't sound that bad," the captain replied. "A few malcontents, nothing more." "You didn't hear what the Legate said-try to understand what he meant." "You mean about possible rebellion?" The tanker captain laughed and shook her head. "He's being paranoid." "Legate Tortorelli's not paranoid," snapped the major. "He might be overly cautious, but he's not crazy. Watch what you say, Captain Mugabe. That might be taken as insubordination or even treason." "Sorry, sir," Mugabe mumbled. "I just don't think we have to worry about the MBA, not the way the Legate is. They're looking for profits, not insurrection."
"They're converting those hunks of scrap for a reason," the major said. "Be sure your unit is ready to move out at an instant's notice. It'll take quick response and heavy artillery to put down a rebellion led by the Governor's own son."
Manfred perked up and almost spilled his pile of paperwork. He hastily bowed his head again to keep everyone from noticing how he eavesdropped as the major stalked off to speak with even more senior officers. Manfred looked up and started to say something to the tanker captain, then held his tongue.
She was a commander of the Behemoth IIs that had been so thoroughly trounced by Austin Ortega during the war games. Bringing himself to Captain Mugabe's notice would serve no one. If a
nything, his usefulness depended on him remaining invisible.
Manfred saw the lieutenant whose desk he had appropriated coming from the elevator. Even junior officers had been summoned to the Legate's emergency meeting. That cemented Manfred's notion of what was happening. He might be a captain and in command of the First Cossack Lancers now, but that would change quickly.
The FCL was being dismantled, one lance at a time, sent on detached duty, elements assigned to other units, until their cohesion was destroyed. Manfred had heard rumors that he was to be reassigned to a test group-a nonexistent test company with no mission. That meant he would do nothing but ride a desk and turn in reports about nothing that no one read.
Manfred smiled a little at the notion of such an assignment. It would be perfect for what he had to do.
It was all he had expected when Governor Ortega had ordered him to Tortorelli's command.
But he had not expected the Legate to mobilize against the populace, claiming Austin was leading a revolt. That was so absurd Manfred wondered why everyone wasn't laughing the rumor into oblivion.
He suspected Elora had something to do with it-more than something.
He got up, started toward the elevator and then stopped at a major's vacant desk. He activated the comm-unit, punched in a series of numbers, counted to three, then disconnected.
Manfred wended his way through the office and down to the garage, where he found a cycle.
He scribbled his name on the checkout sheet, climbed on, and roared off.
Manfred loved the rush of air against his face. The sense of danger made his breath come a little faster, just as the scent of weeds growing along the road leading into Cingulum reminded him of his parents' farm when he was growing up. All he did was cut weeds, or so it had seemed then.
Manfred's nose twitched just a little. He realized that times had not changed much. Then, the tenacious plants he had chopped down were ankle-high bindweed and the taller blue-gray grasses.
BattleTech : MechWarrior - Dark Age 03 - The Ruins of Power - Robert E.Vardeman (2003) Page 10