Now he worked at weeds in the Governor's garden.
He took a curve in the road at high speed, skidded, and then stopped, watching the road behind.
He was the only traffic on the beltway circling the city. A slow line of vehicles made their way inward toward the skyscraper complex he had just left, but no one followed him along this road. Manfred fumbled in his pocket and donned a pair of glasses. A few seconds' adjustment let him scan the ruddy sky for any trace of airborne spy devices. The IR lenses caught heat reflections off a few metallic slivers, but Manfred decided they were high-flying airplanes. He had no sense that he was being followed or electronically monitored.
He gunned the cycle back to a full-throated roar and raced off. Time worked against him, but he had to be certain no one saw whom he was meeting.
Around Cingulum he ran, taking corners at breakneck speed, then slowing and speeding up at random intervals to throw off anyone trying to track him. He doubled back more than once, stopped, and then took a spoke road into a decrepit section of town where he watched from cross streets, and always, always, he used the IR detection goggles. In the field they were good for spotting enemy battle armor and motorized equipment. Here they warned him of aerial spies.
Only when he was sure he wasn't observed did Manfred Leclerc pull into a dingy, garbage- littered alley and lean the cycle against a wall. He dusted himself off, stepped into the street, and walked directly to a small bookstore sandwiched between larger businesses. He went inside, resisted the urge to take a final look out into the street to see if anyone noticed him, then went to the clerk behind a long counter running three-quarters the length of the store.
"I'd like a history book," he said.
"History is a dusty subject," came the answer. "Perhaps you'd like something else." The clerk looked bored and never glanced up at him. He was reading a book of his own.
"Then I'll buy a cookbook." The man lifted his chin, silently pointing out a staircase leading to a second floor, reached under the counter, and pressed a button. He went back to his reading without saying another word.
Manfred hurried up the steps, aware of the intricate wiring and electronics along the way. He opened the door at the head of the stairs, slipped inside quickly, and shut it behind him with a profound sense of relief. He had made it without being seen.
"You worry too much, Manfred," Sergio Ortega said.
"Sorry to take so long, my lord. I had to be sure no one noticed I'd left." "Unless I miss a guess, you are completely off the radar screen in the Legate's headquarters.
That makes it easier for you to get away often, as you will have to if we are to finish this scheme quickly." Sergio sat in a comfortable chair, a book perched on the arm. Manfred sidled around to read the title. A book of essays on pacifism written by a Terran named Bertrand Russell.
"I overheard a few officers talking after an emergency conference," Manfred said with some bitterness.
"To which you were not invited, I take it." Sergio laughed. "Don't feel left out, Manfred. I'd've worried if youhad been included." "I suppose you're right, sir," Manfred said. "An infantry major spoke with a tank commander about a call-up against civilians. The major bragged how battle armor could take out any rioter." "Bravado, nothing more. I can't believe Tortorelli would use battle-armored troops against demonstrators after I've warned him against such a move."
"He's concerned that there is a rebellion brewing, Sergio, one powerful enough to overthrow the government." "Insurrection? And the leader...?" From the way Sergio sat a little straighter, Manfred saw he had the Governor's complete attention.
Manfred hesitated, then said, "Your son. With the backing of the MBA and their converted IndustrialMechs." "Austin is going to overthrow me?" Sergio's good humor slowly evaporated as he considered this. "He's a hothead and we don't agree on how to handle the demonstrations, but he'd never lead a revolt." "I don't think so, either, Baron," said Manfred.
"No, of course he wouldn't. He's a good boy. But he has a stubborn streak in him and he doesn't believe I'm doing a particularly good job running the world at the moment. I want to keep him out of this ruckus as much as I can until he gets more experience, but that might not be possible if Tortorelli thinks he is leading a revolt."
Manfred said nothing as Sergio argued with himself, finally deciding that Austin would never sanction rebellion, even if he thought it strengthened The Republic's grip on Mirach. That's what Sergio ended up saying aloud.
Manfred worried that the Governor didn't sound as if he truly believed it. Deep down, they both knew Calvilena Tortorelli was capable of ordering troops against civilians, whether out of fear or cupidity did not matter, and that was something Austin would oppose with all his heart and soul.
16
Industrial Giants manufacturing plant,
outskirts of Cingulum Mirach
30 April 3133
"The Governor's not planning to cut his spending on other projects, is he?" asked Marta Kinsolving. She tried to sound nonchalant, but Austin Ortega felt the tension in her question. Her brown eyes fixed on him, making him a little uneasy about having to lie to her.
"The budget is set for the coming fiscal year," Austin said, carefully choosing his words. He wasn't lying about that. He simply didn't know what his father was going to do because he was not privy to the actual workings of the government or how his father came to his decisions. Two things were certain, though. Because of his pacifist leanings, Sergio Ortega was not inclined to spend more on military procurement, and Austin had wrangled a tour of another plant under false pretenses.
Austin wasn't sure if he wanted to see what military capability the MBA might be developing or if his purpose was to see Marta again. She was a benign splinter in his mind, always obvious, yet not doing anything to fester. Try as he might, Austin could not find evidence that Marta had arranged Dale's death.
The trail of guilt went to the technician loading the live rounds and abruptly stopped there. When the inventory had been delivered to the field, one crate had been mismarked; the tech actually thought she had given the tank commander dye-marker warheads. But how the crates had become confused-or switched and the labeling altered-was something Austin had failed to determine.
There was one soldier in the supply chain he had been unable to identify, but pursuing the lead had proved difficult because his father had kept him so busy with small, time-consuming chores.
The only chance he had of proving to his own satisfaction that Dale's death was anything more than the officially reported accident was to dig around in Marta Kinsolving's businesses to eliminate her and the MBA as suspects.
She and AWC had profited immeasurably by Dale's death. The contract Sergio Ortega had announced helped offset the loss of revenue from the HPG net failure and gave All WorldComm a position that challenged the Ministry of Information for eventual influence over Mirach. The Span-net proposed by AWC would connect citizens directly, doing away with the need for scheduled newscasts vetted by Lady Elora.
A single flip of the switch on a handheld unit would connect to any news provider, and the small cost for maintaining such a service would ensure that dozens of competing private companies would flock to set up their own direct-transmission news operations.
The Ministry of Information might still control a significant portion of the data flow, but Elora's stranglehold would slip when the citizens found other, more diverse sources for their information.
Austin didn't know if his father realized it, but Sergio had significantly reduced his own power by providing this new conduit of information. Although Lady Elora seldom followed the script as Austin would have written it, she paid some lip service to supporting the Governor and his policies.
Not enough, not anymore, Austin thought, distracted from Marta. Would it be better for the Governor to seize the news services or to give wider access, as he was doing? Austin wasn't sure how Marta, the MBA, and all the other factions on Mirach would use this direct pipeline to
every citizen.
He hoped Marta meant it when she said All WorldComm was interested only in supplying the equipment and that content could be someone else's bread and butter.
He wished his father confided in him more, rather than treating him like a minor functionary.
Not for the first time Austin wondered what it would be like if he had remained with the First Cossack Lancers, even serving under Legate Tortorelli's direct orders. He felt he had a flair for being a soldier.
He certainly felt adrift working as an aide-de-camp for his father.
He hoped poking around MBA-affiliated factories, such as this new IndustrialMech assembly plant, might prove useful. How, Austin wasn't sure, unless it gave some clue about Dale's death, but he needed to keep busy. And he had talked Marta Kinsolving into being his guide through the Mirach Industrial Giants factory.
"I hope the project clears all the fiscal hurdles," Marta said.
"What project?" Austin asked before he thought about how such a question made him appear.
He had to stay more alert and not let his thoughts wander.
"The Span-net, of course," Marta said. "We'll have operational relays on all four moons within two weeks and cheap full-spectrum broadcast capacity for whomever your father approves." The Span-net would help direct attention inward, to how well others on Mirach were doing rather than making comparisons, probably created out of sheer vacuum, with other planets.
"Will only MBA companies be able to contract for transmission time?" he asked.
"Since we are such an encompassing group, I'm sure many will. But the licensure won't be limited strictly to members." As long as "many" means more than the Ministry of Information,Austin thought. From Marta's expression, he saw she meant what she said.
They reached the entrance to the huge assembly building. Stretching a hundred meters inside were ranks of MiningMechs in various stages of assembly. The ones nearest were almost complete, standing six meters high with a rotary drill on one arm and a giant scoop weighing down the other.
Such a machine could bore into a planet and clean out a stope with relentless efficiency.
"Are these units going to Nagursky?" he asked. Austin studied the lines of the 'Mech nearest him. Squat and vaguely menacing, the 'Mech wouldn't take much refitting to become a deadly fighting machine. It was nothing compared to a real BattleMech, but there weren't any in the Mirach armed forces. He and Dale might have trained endlessly in the simulator, but it was only play.
"I'll see," Marta said. She drew out a small handheld unit and spoke rapidly into it. She tucked it back into a pocket and said, "Ben Nagursky's got eight on order." "Eight!" This startled Austin. "Is he expanding his mining empire that much?" Austin knew enough about MiningMechs to know this many could ream out the interior of an entire mountain in a few weeks.
Marta gave a small shrug. "I can't say. We work together for the common good of Mirach industry, but plans for our individual companies are not shared, except in general terms. He might have a new strike waiting to be exploited. Nagursky wouldn't make such a find public until ore began coming out of the ground and he had a market to announce." Austin felt she wasn't telling the complete truth. He hesitated to brand her words a lie, but they carried a feel of... untruth.
"That phone. The portable one. Is that part of your Span-net?" "Here," she said, pulling it out of her pocket and handing it to him. "Use it like a standard phone. Or you can punch one of those small blue buttons for news reports, weather, that sort of information." "Fair, twenty degrees, wind from the north at ten kph," reported the phone when Austin thumbed the weather information button.
"The news available to Span-net is still sketchy, but when the moon stations are finished and the entire world is under a decent reception footprint, there'll be more," Marta said. She obviously thought more of this small communications device than she did the looming 'Mechs on the line.
The truth is mightier than the 'Mech?he wondered. That was hard for him to believe; it sounded too much like something his father might say.
"Do you mind if I take one for a test drive?" Austin asked.
"Keep the phone," Marta said.
"Not the phone. One of those." Austin pointed to a MiningMech standing at the end of the assembly line.
"It might not have been checked out yet," she said.
"Who do I contact to find out?" Austin held up his phone, giving her the goad to reach the plant supervisor. Marta showed him how to use the device by dialing up the super. Austin spoke to the supervisor for a few minutes, then tucked the phone into his pocket.
"All settled. The super said I could take one out, as long as I didn't redline the equipment." "They only have internal combustion engines," warned Marta. "Not a fusion unit like on your simulator." Austin had to laugh. AllWorldComm had manufactured most of the simulator equipment and all the software. This was something Marta knew well.
"Have you ever piloted one before? A real one?" she asked.
"I... know my way around one," Austin said, again not quite telling the truth. He had trained in battle armor, in every mobile unit available to the FCL, and in some of the Legate's heavier tanks, but other than the simulator, Austin had never piloted a 'Mech. Any 'Mech.
"That's good. It requires considerable experience to control one," Marta said. "There's no need for lateral agility in an industrial model, so the controls give you forward and back, not much lateral movement. The arm controllers are the most extensive, but they're easier to figure out than autocannon loaders. The one on the right controls the drill and the other, on the left, the scoop."
"I might dig or drill a little, to test out the handling," Austin said, his heart racing a little faster.
He should have found an IndustrialMech to try out much earlier. He and Dale could have really enjoyed themselves with mock dogfights.
His enthusiasm muted a little as he thought again of his brother, but Austin walked quickly with Marta to the 'Mech. She appeared to know her way around the metal giants as well as he did. The auburn-haired woman smiled.
"I was quite a tomboy when I was growing up. I know everything there is to know about a 'Mech. Even if I hadn't been fascinated when I was younger, I'd still know quite a bit about them. I used to oversee all simulator software design work at AWC before I moved into management." He kept forgetting how capable she was. Her technical expertise was only one of the traits that had propelled her to such a position of power in such a short time. The other CEOs in the Mirach Business Association were much older than Marta.
"Here," she said, rummaging about in an envelope taped to the wall behind the 'Mech he eyed with such admiration. "The activation codes." "Thanks," he said, glancing at them. The sequences were simple, but then, these 'Mechs were still in-factory, with neurohelmets unprogrammed. Once they were put to work in the mines, Nagursky's drivers would imprint their own neurohelmets and reprogram their access codes to something far more difficult to crack. Nagursky wouldn't want just any employee jumping into a MiningMech and taking it for a joyride.
Like Austin intended doing now.
Grinning like a fool, he stripped off his jacket and let Marta help him into coveralls. He looked around for a cooling vest but didn't see one. He asked.
"You won't need one. This is an internal combustion 'Mech. Remember? Cooling fins carry away most of the heat when there's sufficient airflow above ground. Right now, the wind's blowing at ten kph. Remember?" She tapped his pocket where he had stashed the phone.
"In the mines," she went on, "they use huge ducted fans to keep air circulating over the 'Mech's exterior. The pilot never gets that hot." "Still," Austin said, "it must turn sweltering after an hour or two." "You won't be out that long," she said positively. Marta made a big deal of looking at her watch to remind him she had a company to run.
"Why don't you go on and see to your business?" he offered. "You've gone out of your way to show me the factory. I appreciate it but don't want to take up more of your time." "Industrial Gia
nts policy is that I have to check you out if I checked you in. By the time I could get someone to pass along the authority for you, you'd be back from your little jaunt. You won't be out more than five minutes," she said, her eyes boring into him. Austin knew an order when he heard it.
Marta had set the time limit for him to run the 'Mech.
"I'll hurry," Austin said, wanting to pilot it the rest of the day. He scampered up the ladder welded on the left leg, opened the rear hatch, and slipped into the cockpit. He slipped on the neurohelmet and shivered as little as it matched his brain waves to appropriate systems on the 'Mech.
The minor programming would have to be erased and the neurohelmet completely recalibrated later, but Austin supposed that Marta didn't mind. He peered out the polymer window and felt on top of the world, even if this wasn't a BattleMech. It was close enough.
After orienting himself, he felt confident enough to run down a checklist. For a BattleMech such lists ran long pages. The MiningMech was snorting fumes and shuddering, ready to ramble, with only one page of instructions because it lacked complex weapons systems.
"Good to go," Austin announced. When he got no reply, he hunted for the radio and found it inoperative. A few more seconds jiggling switches told him communication was out of the question. It was dead.
Austin jumped when his phone rang. He fumbled it from his pocket and heard Marta's voice.
"Go on, take it out onto the test range and put it through the paces." "What's wrong with the onboard radio?" Austin asked.
"Most MiningMechs don't use a radio," Marta explained. "There's no reason to unwind a couple klicks of comm coaxial cable to hook into the cockpit unit."
Austin tried not to kick himself. MiningMechs were designed for use underground and didn't have standard radios. If communication was needed, the unit was hardwired with the base more like an intercom than a radio. It would be like being on a tether, the coaxial cable unreeling behind as the 'Mech cut its way along mine shafts.
"All right!" He reached the last item on the checklist, closed the hatch, and then secured his safety harness. The hatch sealed with a hiss and the internal air supply began feeding into the enclosed space.
BattleTech : MechWarrior - Dark Age 03 - The Ruins of Power - Robert E.Vardeman (2003) Page 11