Threads of Ambition

by Loren L. Coleman

  "It can't be done right now," Tamas offered. "But the Light Horse will continue to oppose the Confederation. Sooner or later, you get the break you want." He was silent a moment, then said, "Cassandra, for what it is worth, you were right before, when the Second Hussars landed on Indicass. It would have been better to drive them back early."

  She smiled wearily. "Thank you, Tamas. That means a lot to me. But I'm finding out that being right doesn't help without the resources to act on it." She exhaled in a long sigh. And today Sun-Tzu outbid me. "I'm afraid I'll have to take you up on your offer. What salvage I don't need I'll take to another unit on another world." Sooner or later, I'll find the chink in my cousin's armored juggernaut. "So long as the offer stands."

  Tamas regarded her through narrowed eyes. "I do not know," he said, drawing out every word which exaggerated his accent. "As you say, my father could get unhappy, and that is not pleasant sight."

  "I remember," Cassandra said, sitting up to lean on her elbow. A true smile flickered at the corners of her mouth, but failed to fully materialize. "What is it going to cost me, Tamas?"

  "Your Lancers will join my Light Horse for a terrible dinner of field rations, before we head back to new camp and you head for DropShip." He smiled roguishly. "Maybe I scrounge a bottle and some glasses."

  Sitting up, Cassandra pushed aside her other problems for the moment. She told herself to enjoy the good company while she could. "You drive a hard bargain, Tamas. But you have a deal."

  Celestial Palace

  Zi-jin Cheng (Forbidden City), Sian

  Sian Commonality, Capellan Confederation

  Once again Sun-Tzu had shunned the robes of Chancellorship, this time to fully present himself as First Lord. He wore an embroidered gold silk Han jacket over silk trousers, green dragons chasing up the jacket sleeves. Gold, the color only emperors were allowed in the old dynasties. The same outfit he had worn at the beginning of the Star League conference on Tharkad, the conference where he had been elected to the post. Fitting, if Talon Zahn did not exaggerate the situation.

  The bronze-faced doors leading into the Celestial Palace's throne room stood open, awaiting him. Conspicuously absent were the two members of the Death Commandos who normally would have stood guard. He passed through the doors and into the formal reception. Isis Marik, Talon Zahn, and Sang-shao Hyung-Tsei of the Death Commandos all awaited him at the far side of the throne room, gathered near the Celestial Throne.

  And flanking the red-carpeted path between the small committee and the door stood the twenty-four members of the Black Watch, one company to each side.

  The old guardians of the First Lord!

  Every member stood at ramrod-straight attention, resplendent in a dress uniform the Inner Sphere had not seen for over three hundred years. Tartan sashes and kilts, the arrangement of colors within the plaid unique to the Black Watch since the days of pre-space flight Terra. Heavy, forest-green jackets cut along the lines of the old Star League Defense Force uniform, with a high collar and deep hem. Sporran with large cream-colored tassels backing four smaller tassels in black. Rank devices worn on the shoulder, and on the cap the ancient Black Watch insignia.

  Ghosts from the past. That was Sun-Tzu's first thought. Once a proud regiment devoted to the protection of the First Lord of the Star League, the Black Watch had ceased to exist when the old Star League fell. Sun-Tzu walked slowly down the double-rank of men, his intense gaze boring into the soul of each man. As he passed between each pair of the Watch, they turned inward with crisp military precision and a sharp crack as the heels of their dress shoes snapped together. In every pair of eyes the First Lord saw a ruthless, unforgiving edge—the same fanatical gleam he knew from his Death Commandos.

  His review complete, Sun-Tzu approached Talon Zahn first.

  "I was not sure whether to believe it possible." He smoothed out the front of his jacket. "Can the Black Watch really have survived over three hundred years in secret?"

  Zahn, also back in dress uniform for the occasion, nodded toward the last man in the right-hand receiving line. "I believe that Colonel Neil Campbell can better answer your question, First Lord."

  Turning to face the Black Watch commander, Sun-Tzu silently chastised himself for his lack of attention. The officer wore the rank insignia of a Star League colonel, though by Zahn's initial report only two companies of the Watch currently existed. But who—except perhaps the First Lord— would dare tell this unit that they had to obey strict ranking conventions? Sun-Tzu looked the colonel over, and was forced to admit that he liked what he saw. This could be just what I have been looking for. "Well, Colonel? Is it true?"

  Released from his parade-grounds posture with the First Lord's recognition, the Black Watch commander took a crisp step forward. "Very true, First Lord Liao. Some members of th' Northwind Highlanders long believed that they were still a part of th' Black Watch in spirit, bein' fierce upholders of the traditions of the Star League. They formed an 'order' within the Highlanders, secretly waiting for the rebirth of th' Star League."

  Sang-shao Hyung-Tsei frowned his disbelief. "Then why didn't you come forward two years ago?" Sun-Tzu read both jealousy and suspicion in the Death Commando's voice, but it was a fair question. He also noticed the tense ripple of frustration that played over the augmented muscles under Hyung-Tsei's uniform. The Death Commando was a dangerous man, and Sun-Tzu would have to make sure that he did not alienate his realm's prestige unit or its commander.

  "We felt it necessary t' prove our worth," Campbell said simply, as if the statement explained everything, "to ourselves, if nothin' else." After a few seconds' pause, he picked up his thread. "Th' Black Watch failed in its duty only once, two hundred years ago, when Amaris the Usurper staged the coup that ultimately sundered th' first Star League. We have suffered our own penance, but before we would ask a new First Lord t' trust our service, we decided to test ourselves against the Clans, who represented a threat at least as great as th' Usurper."

  Sun-Tzu hid his elation behind half-veiled eyes, thinking this was too good to be true. "Well spoken, Colonel. So your two companies have defeated the Clans on their homeworlds, have they?"

  "Just one company, First Lord." The colonel's voice was strong and vibrant, and showed no hesitation in answering with complete honesty. A quaint mannerism, Sun-Tzu thought. "We traveled by th' fastest possible route to Sian upon return. A second reinforced company from Northwind, some of the best th' Highlanders had to offer, joined up with us en route. And we expect t' keep growing, until we are as we once were."

  "And you hope to replace my Death Commandos?" Sun-Tzu asked, letting just a trace of hesitation slip into his voice for Hyung-Tsei's sake.

  "Until a new First Lord is elected," the colonel answered promptly, "we would pledge our lives and honor t' your defense and t' the defense of your homeworld."

  Walking into the next Tharkad conference with a Black Watch escort would turn some heads. Perhaps earn me the extra political weight I've been wanting for the meetings. I will placate Hyung-Tsei's ruffled pride in private, later. Sun-Tzu drew himself up proudly, as if struck by Campbell's words.

  "Colonel," he said, "welcome to Sian." And he actually meant it.

  * * *

  Colonel Campbell personally set two Black Watch guards at their permanent posts outside the bronze-faced throne room doors and then went to set two more at the main entrance to the Celestial Palace. Only Isis Marik remained behind with her fiancee, her features shining with the pride she felt as Sun-Tzu half-sat, half-leaned against the seat on the Celestial Throne. How far he has come. And with my help, he will go farther still.

  "I suppose you would now advise me to withdraw from the St. Ives Compact," Sun-Tzu said, extending legs and arms in a cat-like stretch, "in order to prove my deserving of the Black Watch."

  Isis recoiled at his mocking tone, a warm flush rising to her cheeks. He is under a lot of stress now, she thought, trying to excuse him. Still, she allowed a bit of her hurt to tell in he
r voice. "That is unkind, Sun-Tzu. Because I suggested you treat St. Ives with more compassion than you have does not mean I think you undeserving. In three short years, you have done more for the Inner Sphere and for your own nation than anyone would have thought possible." She smiled her support. "Allowing the Black Watch to escort you into the conference will be a strong end to your term."

  A hooded look crossed Sun-Tzu's features. "So now you support my efforts to reclaim St. Ives?" The mocking tone faded but not entirely.

  "The day you declared Denbar a Confederation world, it became too late for any other course of action." She shrugged, seeing in Sun-Tzu's attitude a dangerous undercurrent on the subject. "Perhaps I was wrong, and it is time to reunite the Confederation."

  That seemed to mollify Sun-Tzu, who reclined back in comfort. "See if you can't impress that thought on your father, next time you send him a message. If he will not allow us to marry, he might at least offer some more military support."

  Put so bluntly, Isis felt like a bargaining chip. But Sun-Tzu is not totally without justification for his cynicism. Nine years is too long an engagement, regardless of any political considerations. "Of course, beloved. I shall do so at once."

  "At once is not necessary," Sun-Tzu said with a wave of his hand. "Tomorrow will do just fine." He rose from the throne. "You will excuse me, Isis, but there are some matters that require my attention."

  Isis read her summary dismissal in his tone. She nodded once. "As you desire, Sun-Tzu." She bit her lower lip, holding back a sigh. She would certainly press her father, asking for more support. He might even send it. Anything to keep her at a distance, anything except the marriage I desire. And when we show up on Tharkad, escorted by the Black Watch, maybe it will be time for us both to confront him and force a marriage date.

  And by the time Isis left the throne room, she had convinced herself that this was exactly how it would happen.

  32

  Yasu

  Wanzai Province, Nashuar

  St. Ives Compact

  3 June 3061

  Lance Sergeant Fitzgerald raced his hovercraft through Yasu's merchant district, dividing his attention between his head's up display and the main ferroglass viewscreen. A city far south of Hazlet, Yasu's only claim to strategic value was that, at this moment, it served as Nashuar's latest battlefield and one of the most deadly mazes Fitz had ever encountered. Buildings on either side of the narrow, meandering streets rarely rose above three stories, but they pressed in uncomfortably close. His hands ached from several hours at the J. Edgar's controls, and a light tremble threatened to betray him during any one of the high-speed turns.

  Ignoring the danger inherent in brick and steel flashing by at close proximity and at better than a hundred kilometers per hour, Fitz stuck to the tail of Karen Simmons in Prowler Three's Harasser just as the Arcadian mercenary in the Hussar 'Mech stayed glued to his rear. The three had formed an interim partnership after being separated from the main battle, where the company of Arcadians had shattered into its component lances under House Hiritsu's pressure. They had scattered like dry leaves before a storm. Now these three searched through the twisting streets for a return route.

  Three blind mice, see how we run. The line from the old nursery rhyme swam up from the depths of Fitz' mind. Actually this wasn't so hard. All they had to do was follow the smoke.

  Occasionally, over the lower buildings, Fitzgerald saw the black-gray smoke column of a large fire. It reached into the sky to feed the growing haze over the village, and by all observations it appeared to be spreading. Wood was used primarily for residences around here, and that fire was too far away to be within the merchant district. Those had to be homes on fire. And until his group cleared out of the city, any emergency vehicles would stay safely out of their way and the fire would spread. Fitz damned the Arcadian's company commander, who had decided to fall back into the small city and then damned the Hiritsu officer who had followed.

  While you're at it, you can damn yourself. You were serving as recon, and could have led them off in another direction. Fitz shoved aside the self-reproach. In three other directions had been lake country and heavy forest, not the type of terrain he wanted to be caught in by the Warrior House. He knew his job. Right now, my job is to help the Arcadians regroup. Another turn, and another. They had to be getting close.

  How close, Fitzgerald learned not five seconds later as an enemy Wraith fell from the sky to land ninety meters back from the Hussar. He doubted, however, that the ambush had been planned. The 'Mech would have come down firing if it had. Before he could think the action through, Fitzgerald spun his J. Edgar one hundred eighty degrees, now gliding backward along his former path of travel but slowing as the drive fans countered his momentum. The Hussar raced by, stepping over the small hovercraft as Fitz fired his medium laser and then backed up the short lance of energy with a full spread of the hovercraft's missiles. Draw his fire and then evade. Wasn't much of a plan, but it was the best he could come up with on the fly.

  The medium laser struck the Wraith in the lower left leg, carving into the BattleMech's bellbottom-flared armor. The energy weapon drew a ragged scar against the blued-steel finish, splattering the streets with a quarter-ton of the Wraith's armor protection. Two of the four missiles also scored against the Hiritsu BattleMech, one blasting a chunk of ferro-fibrous armor from the left elbow and another clipping the head, snapping off one of the Wraith's two whip antennae and doubtless giving the Mech Warrior inside a good shaking.

  Rattled by the head concussion or not, the Hiritsu pilot did not seem to lose consciousness or sense of target priority. The pulse lasers on either arm spat out scarlet pulses that flew after the retreating Hussar, all of them tracking in on the light armor that protected the mercenary's back. What little armor there was evaporated under the intense energy barrage, which then chewed deeply into the Hussar's internal skeleton. The light 'Mech faltered on its next step, but then regained its balance and raced onward.

  "We're cutting left," was Prowler Three's only communication as Karen's Harasser and then the Hussar took the next corner open to them.

  Time for me to be making my escape as well. Fitz powered up his drive fans and threw a violent twist into his tank's controls. The J. Edgar swung hard right and dove into a nearby alleyway, knocking aside a few large plastic trash cans and then speeding down the back street with little more than a meter to spare on either side. The roar of the fans reverberated off the brick walls. Dirt and old papers billowed up, raising a small storm of light debris behind him. That will make me harder to follow. Then, in the next instant, he remembered. The Wraith jumps!

  "Prowler Three," he shouted, opening a channel to his remaining lancemate, "break away. That Wraith can clear the buildings and come down in your six again. Break away!" He burst out of the alley just long enough to cross a new street, and then plunged back into another dim back street as he waited for a response.

  "Too late," the reply came back softly. "The Hussar is down. Where away, Fitz?"

  Fitz punched the padded wall of his hovercraft cockpit. "Ma de dan!" he yelled, cursing the situation as much as himself. I asked for mercenaries, and we were actually sent some mercenaries, and now we're losing mercenaries. Nice, neat little package. Just like I lost Chi Kung in Prowler Two to Hiritsu infantry last month, and last week David in Prowler Four, still alive but being fitted for a prosthetic leg. Fitz ground his teeth together in a mixture of frustration and raw anger. By bits and pieces they're taking my unit apart.

  "I'm in an alley, running parallel to your course," he finally told his lancemate, cutting across another street. "Take your next left, and we should meet back up." That was all guesswork. With Yasu's meandering streets, the two hovercraft could be speeding apart at ninety degrees by now. Fitzgerald could only hope he was right.

  "Copy, Prowler One. Tracking in." A brief pause, and then, "It's opening up. And we have a firefight."

  A blur near the end of the alley was Karen's Harasse
r gliding by at flank speed. Fitz pulled out and wheeled in a hard bank that put him in her six and speeding along a lakeside street. The lake was narrow but long—dividing the merchant district from a residential area. Counting the bordering grounds and streets along each side, it provided the kind of open area inside a city where BattleMechs tended to converge. No exception here. Fitz looked to his tactical screen to read one lance of Hiritsu BattleMechs playing a deadly game of tag with a like number of Arcadians.

  Correlating his tactical display with the view through his ferroglass shield, it looked as if most of the 'Mechs had grabbed a defensive location and were holding it—jousting with heavy weapons at medium or even long range. The smoke Fitzgerald had been trying to track in on earlier rose from a group of burning houses on the lake's other side. A Centurion belonging to the Arcadians still prowled that area, taking partial cover behind other homes as it fired its medium-bore autocannon at a House Hiritsu Huron Warrior. The emerald lance from the Huron Warrior's large laser stabbed in after the Centurion, but gouged into the roof of the house instead. Shingles blew off and rafters shattered under the hammer of raw energy, and several pieces caught fire to start that home burning as well.

  Stabbing angrily at his comm panel, Fitzgerald opened a channel to the mercenaries. "Striker Two," he said, reading the Centurion's designation off his tactical screen, "clear out of there." He threw his J. Edgar into some light serpentine twists as a Capellan Catapult tried to bracket him in with a flight of long-ranged missiles. A few clipped his left side, gouging armor, but Fitz rode out the damage and kept transmitting. "Those homes can't stand up to heavy weapons."