Trial by Chaos

by J. Steven York

  She leaned forward and put the point of her blade against the assassin's throat. "Move and you die," she hissed.

  The door flew open, flooding the room with light from outside. The door guard stood there, a hulking elemental who had tested down, from the warrior caste to security, assault rifle quickly lining up on the intruder. Seeing that Isis had the situation under control, he felt for the light switch.

  Isis squinted as the overhead lights came on. She made no move to cover her nakedness, and the door guard didn't seem to notice.

  Isis glared at him. "How did she get past you?"

  The guard blinked in surprise. "She did not, I swear, Galaxy Commander!"

  Isis glanced at the side door, the one Vince used, but the locks were currently set so that they could only be opened from the inside, and they were still secure.

  She looked down at the profile of her attacker, her face still pressed against the floor. She blinked in surprise. This was hardly more than a girl, with short blond hair, blood spattered over rosy cheeks, and an upturned nose, now bleeding. "Who sent you, child?"

  The girl flinched in pain, but her expression was angry and defiant. "All of Vega! I strike for freedom!"

  Isis sneered. "Spare me the rhetoric. Tell me what coward sends children to do their dirty work."

  "Eat rocks!"

  Isis still held the wrist of the girl's broken arm. She twisted it ever so slightly. The girl yelped, squirmed weakly and her eyes rolled back as though she might pass out. But still she was defiant. "I come in the name of freedom-loving Vegans. I'll never betray them!"

  Isis thought about twisting the arm harder, but she had little stomach for torturing children. She didn't need to be told who her enemies were. Now she just wanted to know why. "You're just a girl. Why would they send you as an assassin?"

  The girl hesitated, licked her bloodied lips. She seemed to consider the question. "I—I was the only one who would fit."

  Isis frowned, then looked towards the bathroom. She glanced at the guard, then jerked her chin towards the door. He slipped past them into the bathroom, weapon held ready. He flicked on the light. "There is an open service panel here," he said, "under the sink. There is a space with pipes behind it. I can barely see how a rat could fit through there, much less a person, but that must be how she managed to get in."

  Isis looked down at her prisoner. "You've got courage, child. It's a shame you chose to waste it on a lost cause." A contingent of guards appeared at the door, and she allowed them to take the girl prisoner. She showed the open panel to another of the guards. "Find out where that passage goes and secure it, so this will not happen again."

  The guard looked apologetic. "There are no surviving blueprints to this building. You were warned it would be a security issue when we moved in."

  She scowled at him. "I did not ask you to find the blueprints; I asked you to find where the tunnel goes. If that means you have to crawl though it yourself, then do it."

  He looked nonplused. "I'll find a way, Galaxy Commander." He snapped a salute and strode briskly out the door. As she watched him go, she saw somebody step through behind him.

  Vincent.

  He looked at the blood on her, on the floor, and stared at her with open concern.

  She reached up and, for the first time, touched the swelling where the butt of the crossbow had struck her cheek.

  Vince grabbed up the sheet, noticing with alarm the shaft of the crossbow bolt projecting from the mattress, and threw it over her shoulders.

  She shrugged off the sheet. "Vince, you're acting like a freeborn idiot. Make yourself useful and find me some real clothes."

  He looked shocked, but walked over and started digging through the drawers of the filing cabinet-cum-dresser, pulling out the green sweat suit she used for her morning exercises.

  She bent down to pick up the crossbow, admiring the clever way that it snapped apart into modular pieces.

  It never would have fit through the narrow plumbing shaft assembled.

  Vince handed her the clothes. The sweat on her skin was evaporating, and she suddenly felt chilly. She pulled on the pants and jacket, then reached to pull the crossbow bolt out of her mattress.

  "Don't," Vincent said. "They'll want to investigate."

  Her hand froze just short of the bolt.

  "Leave it. You can stay in my apartment. This is a crime scene now."

  She drew back, frowning. "This isn't crime, it's war."

  Vincent remained silent.

  "They're sending children against me, Vince." She met his gaze. "I am mistaken, and you are right. That is not war. That is a crime."

  5

  From the Great Work of Galaxy Commander Isis Bekker

  With my implied offer of surrender, the Atlas again hesitated. Despite his ego, despite his apparently huge advantage, I did not see my opponent as a man of excessive personal courage. If he could avoid battle, at least personal battle, he would.

  That was his weakness.

  A second passed as he considered. Another.

  I was no longer advancing on his position, and the harassment fire had fallen off as the supporting units sought new positions. Per my orders, they were forming a defensive perimeter, leaving the Atlas to us. From their chatter on the command circuit, I knew more of Kean's forces were closing in on us from multiple vectors. Right now we were outgunned. In a few minutes more, we would be overwhelmed.

  In battle, a few minutes can be an eternity.

  But the distraction fire had done its job, giving Conner Hall time to move.

  He found his ideal position behind Kean, and opened fire with everything he had on the Atlas' less-armored flank. It was an act of all-out desperation, but at last the Atlas showed some real damage. I smiled, thinking that behind that deadly skull, Jedra Kean might finally be seeing a few red lights of his own.

  But the victory was short-lived. The Atlas turned. The missiles that moments before had been intended for me arced toward Conner Hall's 'Mech and struck with deadly force. The machine was enveloped in a ball of flame. It staggered a few steps, then slumped over, crippled and inert.

  The Atlas swiveled back toward me. its pilot thinking to make another kill.

  On the command circuit, I could hear our other forces facing the incoming 'Mechs and armor without hope, but without fear.

  I heard Conner Hall's voice crackling in my headset, weak and gurgling, as though choking on his own blood. "Good hunting, Galaxy Commander."'

  The Atlas drew its sights on me, but I had been moving and. though my armaments were nearly spent, I had saved one volley of missiles. The range was ideal.

  I targeted the already weakened armor on the skull, like a diamond cutter seeking out a flaw in the stone. I put my crosshairs on the target, waited for the moment, then fired.

  Missiles flared across the darkened sky.

  Flame enveloped the upper reaches of the big 'Mech, boiling into the air above it, then fading.

  And as the flame cleared, I could see that the skull of the Atlas was cracked open like an egg. Inside, I could just make out the remains of the cockpit, and something still struggling.

  Knowing that his gathering forces would be looking on, would be witness to what was about to happen, I targeted my remaining laser and thought to myself, "These are my terms for surrender!"

  Brubaker Hotel, North Central District

  Nasew, North Nanturo continent, Vega

  23 November 3136

  Taylor Bane sat slouched in a wicker chair in the middle of the suite, his thick, manicured fingers wrapped around the cool bentwood of the chair's arms, looking out the window at the ragged city skyline. The glass sliding door to the balcony was open, and the stained draperies rippled inwards with a welcome breeze, heavily scented by wood smoke. He was sweaty and uncomfortable. The air-conditioning had failed within twenty minutes of their checking in, and there was little indication when, or if, it would be fixed.

  He lifted the handset of the old corde
d phone on the table and put it to his ear. There was a dial tone. At least that was working—at the moment, anyway. He placed it back in its cradle and stared out at the mountains beyond the city, their peaks shrouded in blue-gray haze. He could see the bottom of the gap that the bellboy told him was called Lincoln Pass, a gap in the mountain into which snaked a wide highway, a parallel cargo-train road, and a bank of pipelines, all beginning their long journey to the industrial city of Northgate, which lay at the far end of the pass.

  It was the sort of thing that attracted Bane's attention.

  Other people might have seen the pass as a lifeline for resources or a corridor for commerce. Bane saw it in much more fundamental terms. It was a path along which wealth flowed, and where wealth flowed, he knew his employer would covet a piece of the action.

  But that would come later. His boss wasn't here yet, wasn't welcome here yet. In fact, nobody even knew he wanted to be welcome here.

  That was Bane's mission. He had to find his employer a welcome mat and figure a way to get it rolled out for him.

  He heard someone rattling the door lock and reached for the pistol tucked neatly under his jacket, then relaxed as the door opened to reveal Bruno Vic, a leather-covered ice bucket under his arm. The big man entered and locked the door behind him.

  "Bruno," he said. "You got ice?"

  Bruno put the bucket on a side table and nodded. "I couldn't find any in the hotel. The desk guy sent me out into the alley behind the hotel, where some guy was selling it out of a cart. Then I get back and the elevators aren't working. Had to climb the twelve flights to our room."

  "This planet is a rat hole. Did I mention that?"

  "I think you did, maybe." Bruno pulled a bottle of scotch from one of their suitcases, put some ice in a glass and poured a drink. He carried the glass over and handed it to Bane, who accepted it gratefully. He took a sip, smiled and leaned back, closing his eyes. "Ah, the taste of civilization. Amazing how important the simple pleasures can be in a place like this."

  "That ice," said Bruno, "it probably has all kinds of bugs in it. God knows where they got the water."

  Bane only chuckled. "That's why we were inoculated for every disease known to man before we left, and why I've got a bag full of broad-spectrum antibiotics and anti-virals." He took another sip and sighed happily. "For this, I'll take my chances."

  There was a knock at the door. Bruno pulled his pistol from under his jacket and stepped to the door. He peered through the peephole for a moment, then, keeping the gun ready but out of sight, opened the door a crack.

  Bane heard him talking quietly, and a man's voice responding. Then he opened the door, and the man stepped in.

  He was dark, short, slender and middle-aged, his cheeks pockmarked, and he had a bulbous nose over a thick moustache. He wore a tattered, stained white suit and scuffed black shoes. He clutched a straw hat nervously to his chest, and frowned as though he expected something distasteful to happen. "I am Geoff Krago. I was told you might have need of a guide. I was told you can pay in gold, not the government scrip." He glanced over at Bruno, and his eyes widened in alarm as he spotted the chrome-plated automatic that the big man was slipping back under his coat. But he did not bolt. He merely swallowed, looked back at Bane and clutched his hat a little tighter.

  "I may have need of your services. I am told you are a knowledgeable man, that you know much about the city and its people. You know how things work. You know how to get things done."

  Krago flashed a weak smile. "It may be true that I have some skill in such things. An expertise of sorts. I will help you if I can."

  "You recognize that I need complete confidentiality. You must not speak of my concerns with others, not even your wife. Especially not your lovely children."

  The man's mouth sagged a little in surprise.

  Bane was careful not to let his satisfaction show. He had made many inquiries before summoning Krago. The man had not been chosen merely for what he knew, but also for his vulnerability to threats. Family men were, by definition, subject to persuasion. "I am willing to pay quite well for this consideration and, as you suggest, not in the local currency. If you accept these terms, you will find me quite easy to get along with."

  Krago blinked nervously and licked his lips. "Of course. This is acceptable. What may I do for you?"

  "I need to get into the capital. I need to meet with Galaxy Commander Isis Bekker."

  The man looked alarmed, "I must know what this is about. I cannot be party to— There are things I will not—"

  "Mister Krago, I am paying you to answer my questions. How do I reach her, personally and privately, or failing that, the provisional governor?"

  "You—You could make an appointment."

  "I've investigated that possibility. Assuming I could even get on the list, the first available appointment is six months from now. I require more immediate access. For that, I will have to operate . . . outside channels. How do I get access?"

  The man looked down at his feet, chewed his lower lip. "There is no way, sir. The provisional capital is a fortress, much more so than the old one. You know what happened?"

  Bane nodded. "Someone dived into it with an aerospace fighter loaded with explosives. The kinetic energy was such that the explosives were almost unnecessary. Most of your government was wiped out in a single stroke. Perhaps a suicide attack, though some speculate that the pilot tried to eject and could not. Several groups have claimed responsibility, but the true identity and affiliation of the pilot may never be known."

  Krago nodded. "Then you can understand, sir, why they are paranoid. There is a two-kilometer security perimeter, very tightly controlled. The building itself was built as the headquarters of MyoMaxx Corporation, on the assumption that it might one day come under military attack due to the company's strategic importance. The walls of the building are armored like a "Mech. hardened against all but the most intense and sustained fire. There are almost no windows. The air system is filtered against poisons and toxins. There are escape tunnels and bunkers, traps and countermeasures, antiaircraft defenses on the roof and at several outlying sites.

  "These are only the defenses that I know of. I have little doubt there are more. The senior officials live there as well as work there. You will not get to them, no matter what you have in mind."

  "I will require maps, details of the security perimeter and any other security measures that you can docu ment."

  "They will not help you."

  Bane sighed. "Let me decide that. Can you do this"— he pulled one of the little gold bars from his pocket and held it up for the man to see—"or shall I find someone more forthcoming?"

  "No. No. I can do it! It may take a few days though. Perhaps a week."

  "Two days." He held out the bar, and the man snatched it like a starving dog stealing meat. "If the information is satisfactory, there will be more."

  "Yes, I will get you what I can. Two days."

  Bruno caught the man's eye and jerked a thumb towards the door.

  The man nodded, and allowed Bruno to lead him out.

  As the door closed behind the man, Bruno turned back to Bane. "You really think he'll keep quiet?"

  Bane shrugged. "He might. He might not. I suspect some word of our activities may leak out."

  "That doesn't bother you?"

  "If the powers that be become aware of our activities, they may come looking for us. Under the right circumstances, that could suit my needs just as well. If Mohammed will not go to the mountain . . ."

  * * *

  The former headquarters of the MyoMaxx Corporation had become something of a prison to Isis Bekker, and she resented her confinement intensely. It was unbecoming of a warrior to cower in a fortification, avoiding conflict rather than seeking it out.

  Yet she knew that, for now at least, this was the unhappy duty of her position. Those around her recognized it as well, and so she seemed unlikely to be relieved of that responsibility anytime soon.

  S
till, it was not a prison without amenities. She had no interest in the posh executive living quarters that most of the senior Vega delegates now occupied, nor in the executive dining hall, with its carved hardwood furniture, fine china and crystal. Many things had changed for the Ghost Bear society during their time in the Inner Sphere, but they had not lost their taste for the spartan, their distaste for waste and frivolous luxury.

  But the long-gone executives of the company had also provided for themselves recreational facilities with a more practical use, including a full health club located in the subbasement. There was a competition-sized pool, weight-training facilities and sports courts of various types. Though she was proficient in several sports, her favorite was four-wall handball.

  She enjoyed the one-on-one intensity of the sport, the lightning speed of the action, and the physicality of striking the ball with her bare hand. The formal rules, of course, called for gloves, but she always waived that point, and nobody had the rank to contradict her. "A privilege of command," she would often say.

  Her most frequent opponent was Star Colonel Conner Hall. Since the younger warrior was effectively her military commander on Vega while she attended to political matters, she had to consult with him regularly. Their handball games at least sometimes spared them both the boredom of sitting around an office looking at deployment maps.

  With two paramilitary police guards as escorts, she took a private elevator, once reserved for the MyoMaxx CEO, down to the gym area. The two guards stood behind her, trying to be as invisible as their looming, black-armored presence would allow. She was sure Security Chief Ricco would not approve of this, after the assassination attempt, but she refused to live as any more of a prisoner than she already did. Assassins be damned.