Fortress of Lies mda-8

by J. Steven York

  The hissing of air outside became louder and finally stopped. The shuttle’s doors opened with a slight whoosh, and Erik’s ears popped. Apparently the pressure regulator on the shuttle was out of adjustment. He climbed down the line to the inner airlock, and was surprised to find Deena Onan waiting just inside the door.

  She smiled as she saw him, and it seemed genuine. But the smile quickly faded as she saw his face, and she looked away. “I’m glad to see you’re well, Commander.”

  “Amazingly, I escaped death several times over during my little visit to Shensi. Who knew it would be such an exciting place?” He waited for her answer.

  She didn’t shift her gaze. “For what it’s worth, Erik, I thought you knew—that you were in on the plan. I wasn’t trying to deceive you that day; I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

  He looked at her. His face felt still and dead. He had been attracted to this woman once—even gladly endured the hidden laughter and taunts of those who claimed she was unapproachable. Now he felt nothing, and wondered why it had ever been different. “Perhaps—” He swallowed. “Perhaps you were deceived yourself. I’d like to think so, anyway. But you’re still here.”

  “I have my loyalties, Commander,” she said stiffly. “I will not apologize for them.”

  “Your loyalties have been bought, you mean. The Duke is your meal ticket, your shortcut to wealth and power well above your station. I’ve always known this. I simply didn’t understand, until now, exactly what it meant.”

  She did not bend, but he could see that his words had stung her. Good.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “that you feel that way.”

  “I have to see the Duke. Where is he?”

  “The gymnasium on the crew deck. He’s expecting you.”

  Erik brushed past her. “I imagine he is.”

  Aaron slipped his feet into the stirrups at the base of the resistance machine, and slid his shoulders under the bar, placing his hands around the grips. The gymnasium, and as many of its facilities as possible, was designed to function either in free fall or normal gravity.

  Since weights wouldn’t work without gravity, the resistance machine allowed the user to work against computer-controlled bands of myomer, the synthetic muscle used in ’Mech limbs. The myomer could be programmed to provide any amount and pattern of resistance. Aaron currently had the machine programmed for 130 kilograms.

  Working out in free fall was an old habit of his. In theory, a simple pill taken every day prevented the loss of muscle and bone density that had plagued early space travelers, but he didn’t want to take chances with his body.

  Captain Clancy watched him skeptically. It was clear that what muscle the little man had came solely through honest toil. Clancy could often be seen down in the engine rooms or in the cargo bays, working right along with his men. “Don’t bust a gut there, Duck. I still got some use for you.”

  Aaron tensed, pushed the bar to its stop, slowly lowered it back down. The rep-counter clicked to one.

  “So you do, Captain. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. We haven’t had time yet, given the current emergency, but I wanted to assure you that, at the earliest opportunity, the Tyrannos Rex will get the finest upgrades available, to all its systems. With a special emphasis on the armor, engines, and weapons.”

  Clancy squinted with one eye. “I’m wondering if my ship has just been insulted?”

  “Not at all, Captain. She’s a fine ship, and I know you’ve made many improvements over the standard Excalibur specifications. Despite your ingenuity, however, I know cost has always been an object. That will no longer be the case. I want you and your engineers to draw up a wish list. Anything that can be made better, do it. For the major things, we’ll have it done in dry dock when the time comes.”

  “Fair enough, Duck.”

  Aaron grunted. The rep-counter read ten.

  “I’ve also arranged for a team of naval architects to work on the weapons problem. Excalibur s are notoriously ill armed.”

  “I’ve made some improvements, but that’s a tricky proposition.”

  “I know there have been previous efforts to upgrade Excalibur weaponry, with mixed success. But in every case, it was done while trying to retain the ship’s original capabilities as a military transport. Given our somewhat different mission, we might just have enough flexibility to turn her into a formidable fighter.

  “You have a problem with that?”

  “If you can make it work, Duck, be my guest.”

  The door opened, and someone cleared his throat.

  Clancy turned and his eyes narrowed. “Well, Duck. Looks like the pup has come home.”

  Erik glared at Clancy. “I’ve got no patience with you today, Clancy. Shut up, and get out. I need to talk to the Duke.”

  The little man slid in close and looked Erik in the eye. “Nobody tells me where to go on my ship, pup!”

  Aaron made eye contact with Clancy and shook his head. “Please, Captain, humor him. Or if not, humor me.”

  Clancy glared at Erik. “I’ll do it for you, Duck. Me and the pup can settle this later.” He pushed off from a bulkhead and sailed effortlessly out through the doorway.

  Erik reached over and closed the hatch.

  “Erik, I’m glad to see you safe.”

  “I hear a lot of that,” said Erik dryly.

  “What news from Shensi?”

  Erik tossed an envelope at Aaron, who snatched it out of the air. “A signed agreement, our original draft, without a word changed.”

  “Excellent! Well done!” Aaron wedged the envelope between the frame of the resistance machine and the wall, then went back to lifting.

  Erik watched him silently for a minute. “Is that all you have to say?”

  “What else is there? You were given a mission that you fulfilled completely… Did I ever tell you the story about the sword of the First Knight?”

  “A million times!”

  “Well then, what more do I have to say? Good job.”

  Erik felt his face getting warm. “You tried to kill me!”

  Aaron stopped lifting, half-turning in the stirrups to face Erik. “I did no such thing.”

  “Then you deny hiring Liao’s mercenaries to attack Shensi while I was there?”

  “Of course not. That’s exactly what I did. But clearly the intent was not to kill you. There would be a million easier and more certain ways of doing that.”

  “Of course you had other reasons, but you might have had the decency to tell me what I was walking into.”

  “If I’d told you, would you have gone?”

  “If you’d ordered it, of course, without question. I’m shocked that you even have to ask that.”

  Aaron’s face was unreadable. “I did not order Erik the soldier, I sent Erik the Sandoval.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Erik the soldier would have gone, but his responses to the situation would not have been useful to me. Having a Sandoval in harm’s way is what sold the attack as a genuine act of the Liao incursion. I had no idea where you’d be when the attacks began, or who you’d be with. Your reaction, your shock and surprise, had to be genuine. I’m afraid those acting lessons I arranged for you as a teen never seemed to take at all.”

  “You placed me, your own kin, in mortal danger simply as a bit of window dressing?”

  “And when I order you into combat, are you in less danger?”

  “That’s different. I go into combat with my eyes open. I know the risks, and I have the tools to fight them. You sent me on this mission without telling me that I’d be attacked. Attacked by mercenaries that you hired!” Erik was disappointed that Aaron didn’t seem the least bit defensive or apologetic. He just looked …puzzled.

  “So? What if Liao really did attack while you were there? What if the Shensi had turned on you, or arrested you? What if there had been another assassination attempt? Any diplomatic mission can turn deadly. I know that better than anybody
.”

  “That’s not the point—”

  “That’s exactly the point, Erik. When I put you in danger’s way, it is with the trust that you have the cunning and warrior skills to extricate yourself from whatever happens. It doesn’t matter who arranged the attack. What matters is that you did survive it, and you returned victorious. You’ve vindicated yourself, Erik.”

  “Vindicated? What?”

  “You’ve disappointed the family and me repeatedly, Erik. On Mara, losing your ’Mech, failing to secure the HPG station on Achernar. New Aragon was an opportunity to prove you deserved another chance to distinguish yourself. Your performance there was adequate, so I sent you to Shensi, where you availed yourself well.”

  “I fought for my life and survived.”

  “And if you hadn’t found a way to do that, then you wouldn’t deserve to be called a MechWarrior, or a Sandoval.”

  Erik was finally speechless. Aaron clearly had no remorse—saw nothing at all wrong with his actions—and nothing Erik could say would change that in the least.

  “You’ve proven yourself worthy, Erik. Therefore, I’m giving you command of our forces on St. Andre until I arrive. You’re to inspect the troops there and prepare them for a defensive action against House Liao. I want you to proceed there immediately, while I continue my mission to Poznan. Then I’ll rally the coalition forces, and we’ll see if we can turn that defense into a counterattack.”

  Erik was silent.

  “Erik, you should be honored!”

  Honored? Under other circumstances, he would have been. Some time ago, they’d identified St. Andre as a key to stemming the House Liao incursion. Now their intelligence showed the world directly in the path of the Capellan advance, with leading forces already having flanked it on their way to Terra. A significant portion of the SwordSworn might have been allocated to the planet’s defense.

  If Erik couldn’t hold the world, the surviving SwordSworn would have little hope of standing against House Liao, with or without coalition forces. Now that they had cut ties with The Republic, there was no turning back. The defense of St. Andre was either a bold venture or a desperate gamble, depending on how you looked at it. In any case, Erik was literally being entrusted with the survival of the SwordSworn.

  “Mark my words. St. Andre will not fall.”

  Then, disgusted at even being in the same room as the Duke, Erik left. The curse of free fall is that it doesn’t allow one to stomp out of a room. He floated down the hallway to a junction, then grabbed a handrail and just hung there. What was he going to do next?

  Go to St. Andre, obviously. Organize the defense. Act like nothing had happened.

  But it had. Now Erik carried in his head knowledge of the Duke’s deception. If that information were conveyed to the right people, it could ruin Aaron’s reputation and derail his coalition before it even began. Erik clung desperately to that thought.

  Despite the authority of his new command, that information seemed the only real power he had. Yet, the problem with it was in how absolute that power was. Right now, he wanted to hurt his uncle, strike back at him. But was he really ready to destroy him?

  Part of Erik said yes, but a calmer, more rational part told him to wait. If he lashed out now, he’d destroy himself right along with Aaron Sandoval. Take care of yourself first!

  Ironically, it was his uncle who had taught him that. That was one lesson, at least, that Erik had learned well.

  15

  This is Sword [garbled] JumpShip Martyoff [static] incoming House Liao JumpShip [static] [garbled] pirate point! [static] Five—no, six [static] May be jamming my [static]. Advise Command [unintelligible] immediately! [static] Mayday! [garbled]—opened fire [static; transmission ends].

  –Radio transmission, intercepted off St. Andre, 12 December 3134

  Monarch-class liner Boiler Bay

  Ningpo jump point, en route to St. Andre

  Prefecture V, The Republic

  12 December 3134

  Lieutenant Clayhatchee, having traveled by a more indirect route from Shensi, arrived at the Ningpo jump point eleven hours after Erik, in time to rejoin him for the trip to St. Andre.

  Erik inquired after Elsa Harrad, but Clayhatchee reported she’d kept to herself after they managed to secure passage on a hurriedly departing cargo ship. He knew only that she’d remained on the JumpShip that had taken them out of the Shensi system, and seemed intent on finding passage elsewhere. Clayhatchee wasn’t privy to her destination.

  Erik was disappointed, but unsure what he’d been expecting. A love letter? Coordinates for a secret rendezvous? He couldn’t blame Clayhatchee for failing to be more diligent in collecting information. He’d simply told him to get her off-planet, not spy on her movements or grill her for information.

  In fact, he’d failed to tell anyone that she was, at the very least, a House Liao informant. There was a certain seductive danger that he was coming to appreciate in keeping secrets. As with the knowledge of the Duke’s treachery, this secret pleased him, made him feel more secure and powerful. He found himself wanting more.

  Not wishing to stay on his uncle’s ship any longer than was absolutely necessary, Erik and his aide took a freighter back to New Aragon.

  At the jump point there, Erik and Lieutenant Clayhatchee managed to secure passage on a Monarch–class liner, the Boiler Bay, bound directly for St. Andre. He took some small pleasure in charging their first-class accommodations to the Duke, but was slightly disappointed when the charges came to a relative pittance.

  According to the ship’s steward, while passenger ships leaving the threatened planet were jammed, returning ships ran nearly empty. The Boiler Bay had two hundred and sixty-six staterooms. Fewer than fifty were currently booked, all in first class, all sold at cut-rate prices. The second-class deck had been turned over to the ship’s crew, who enjoyed the relative luxury.

  The ship loitered for days, waiting for its JumpShip to finish charging, and for the remaining booked passengers to arrive on other vessels. Erik spent most of that time alone in his suite, watching Tri-Vids, reading outdated status reports from the forces on St. Andre, and trying not to think about Elsa or the Duke.

  Finally, it got to be too much. He didn’t crave human company, but he needed something to distract him from the uncomfortable thoughts filling his head. He wandered over to the ship’s nearly deserted casino. Other than a handful of people playing slots, the only activity was in the poker pit, where a handful of people sat around a table engaged in Texas Hold-’em.

  Like everything else on the ship, the poker table was designed to work even without gravity. The chips were magnetic, the tabletop covered with thousands of tiny holes and equipped with a suction fan that kept the cards on the table. Dealing without gravity was, of course, a specialized skill, but the croupier running the table handled things expertly.

  The buy-in limit was five hundred C-Bills—just large enough to be interesting, but not so big that the game wouldn’t stay friendly. Erik bought his chips and was dealt in. He looked at his cards. Three-seven off-suit. He sat the hand out, and the next several, as well. Meanwhile, he learned a little about the other players.

  Two—a man and a woman—were businesspeople from St. Andre, rushing home so that a Liao takeover didn’t strand them away from home and family. Another fellow was a would-be mercenary, headed into the war zone hoping to fight for the highest bidder. Erik decided if the man didn’t fight any better than he played poker he was going to have a hard time selling his services, especially to the SwordSworn. The last, a younger man with dimples and too-perfect hair, was an Interstellar News Network stringer, hoping to send back some dispatches from the front.

  Next hand, Erik turned up an ace and a two. The dealer turned over another pair of twos and a king at the flop, which was good for Erik, but which spooked most of the rest of the players out of the game. The mercenary hung on for the distance, finally going all-in. Erik cleaned him out when he proved to have only a king
, making two pairs against Erik’s three of a kind.

  The frustrated mercenary unfastened his seatbelt and stood up too quickly, helplessly flailing toward the ceiling. Even the dealer laughed, and the red-faced wanna-be merc managed to reach a handrail and beat a hasty retreat.

  Erik raked in the pot, and began stacking his chips in a rack.

  The male business traveler seemed to be working up his courage to ask something. “So, Commander, is war really coming to St. Andre?”

  Erik glanced warily at the reporter. “Is this on or off the record?”

  The reporter grinned. “Off, if that’s the way you want it, Commander Sandoval. With the HPG network gone, it isn’t likely to be an issue, anyway. By the time I can file a story, it will have happened—or not, as the case may be.”

  Erik shrugged. “My crystal ball is no better than anyone else’s. House Liao is moving around past the planet on either flank, and could bypass St. Andre completely. But I doubt it.”

  “But you—the SwordSworn”—the name rolled off his tongue awkwardly, like an unfamiliar word in a foreign language—“you’re going to fight for us, right?”

  “That’s the plan; hopefully we won’t be alone.”

  “But,” asked the man, “can you win?”

  “We’ve beaten them once already, on New Aragon, and the situation is better here. It’s always better to fight a defensive action. House Liao is spreading itself pretty thin, and hiring excellent mercenaries—like our departed friend.” That generated chuckles around the table. “They’re vulnerable.”

  Erik heard another person buying chips, and so wasn’t surprised when someone slid into the empty seat across the table from him. But he was surprised when he looked up to see Elsa Harrad. “Can somebody deal a lady in?” She looked over, made eye contact, and smiled coyly. “Good evening, Commander.”

  He looked at her, but said nothing.