Warrior: Coupé (The Warrior Trilogy, Book Three): BattleTech Legends, #59

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Justin took one last look at the holographic display the ’Mech provided him of the whole area. The Prince and my father are to be congratulated. This place is hidden in plain sight. It functions like a normal electronics plant—an electrified fence for night security and a checkpoint for daily visitors—but it’s not built up enough to attract unnatural attention. That a ’Mech company is billeted close enough to react to a raid seems like careful planning on the part of the plant’s owner instead of any governmental attempt to protect it. Justin smiled. It’s just too bad we knew where to look.

  He punched a button on his console, opening the Centurion’s faceplate. He unsnapped his cooling vest from the couch and released his left-wrist cable from the couch’s arm. He stuffed the cable back into its compartment and snapped it shut. Unplugging the sensors from his neurohelmet, he shoved it back up into place, then zipped up his jumpsuit.

  Before he slid from the command couch, Justin opened the compartment below it. From there, he withdrew a needle pistol and shoulder holster. He donned them immediately, adjusting the holster to fit snugly beneath his left armpit. Feeling around in the compartment carefully, he found the other item taped to the compartment’s roof. He pulled it free and stripped the tape from it.

  Candace’s holodisk for the Prince. The item, barely twelve centimeters in diameter, could contain over an hour of holovid message on its bottom rainbow surface. The blue and white crest of St. Ives had been emblazoned on the obverse, and the bold labeling made Justin uneasy. I will have to be careful with this or someone will wonder why I’m leaving it behind.

  Justin slipped it into the slender pocket on his jumpsuit’s right thigh. He pulled the jumpsuit hood up over his head, then reached behind the command couch to another storage area. From there, he pulled one of the mirrored face masks Alexi and his men had already donned. Tightening it into place by pulling on the straps, Justin crossed to the Centurion’s chin and leaped the one-meter gap to the lab’s roof.

  Justin caught up with the other eight commandos at the doorway leading down into the lab. It already stood open, and two men had reached the bottom of the stairs without injury. Silently, the others followed, tension winding inside them like a viper.

  Justin watched the two point men move into the brightly lit corridor. He found himself tensed against the sound of gunfire. When neither man evaporated in a hail of plastic flechettes or bullets, Justin started breathing again. Both men signaled that the corridor was secure.

  Justin smiled as he stepped into the passageway. Lab techs lay in the corridors as if it were nap time in a nursery school. Halfway up the corridor, a number of fluids puddled into an oily slick where a tech had dropped a tray of samples. As the puddle neither smoked nor bubbled, Justin simply ignored it.

  He pointed to the doors up and down the corridors. “Fan out in pairs. Eliminate dangerous situations—shut off burners or boiling things and don’t go wrecking anything. Use the cameras you were issued to document anything interesting. Scour this level and look for the stuff our scientists showed us as being a clue to a myomer experiment. Let’s do it fast. We don’t want to take more time than necessary.”

  The black-clad Maskirovka agents spread out like living shadows through the facility. Though the third and second levels were filled with wondrous machinery, none of it yielded their quarry. On the first level, though, back in a lab tucked in a corner, Ling reported success.

  Aside from the two people posted at the door, the team crowded into the small lab. Standing over the snoring body of a white-haired researcher, Ling pointed at a thick, black bundle of myomer fibers. Two meters long, it was anchored at one end to a steel I-beam and attached at the other end to a piston-like, spring-loaded tensiometer. A digital display on the piston reported the tension to be at 4,000 kilograms.

  Justin glanced at Alexi. “That’s a finger flexor. That’s muscle four times as powerful as the fibers on my Centurion! Can you imagine what a full arm muscle or leg muscle could do?”

  Alexi shivered. At a nod from Justin, he worked the piston’s controls and reduced the tension to nothing. The myomer fiber fattened as it grew shorter. Alexi unhitched it from the piston, then shook his head. “Justin, this stuff is so light. Using this, we’ll be able to add more weaponry to our ’Mechs.”

  Maximovitch, poking around in a container of holovid disks, laughed aloud. “Looks like I’ve got documentation on two series of tests run with this stuff, as well as the notes on its development.”

  Justin nodded. “Good, Georgi. Take them.” Justin directed one other commando toward Alexi. “Li, I want you to carry the muscle. We had planned to cut it up, but that’s when we thought it would be heavy. The rest of you form up out in the hallway and head toward the front of the building. It’s time for us to get out of here.”

  Justin waited for the others to leave the lab before he crossed to the container Maximovitch had rifled. He pulled Candace’s holodisk from his pocket and dropped it in with the others, then cried out as a horrible, high-pitched wail screamed through his skull.

  Both hands went to his ears, but the sound died quickly enough for him to hear a needler pistol being cocked. He turned slowly to face Anatol Ling and stare down the barrel of the agent’s pistol.

  Raising his hands, Justin let steel fill his voice. “What is the meaning of this, Ling?” I hope someone picks up the broadcast and comes to investigate.

  Justin’s distorted image pendulumed back and forth across Ling’s curved faceplate as the agent shook his head. “The squeal was a jammer, Xiang. No one can hear you.” Waving the gun’s muzzle, Ling forced Justin back and away from the holodisk collection. “Well, well, what have we here? Treason on the part of the Duchess of St. Ives?”

  Justin stared at the pistol. Ten meters between us. I can cross that distance before he gets a second shot off, and the needles don’t have the mass to stop my charge. “You’re working for Romano Liao, aren’t you?”

  Ling’s nod was almost respectful. “You are quick, Xiang. Yes, she wanted to make sure you would not return from this mission. I think, however, she will be more interested in hearing about this disk than a description of your death. She wanted me to shoot you first in the groin, you know. Your death will earn me her thanks, but this disk…”

  As Ling shifted his pistol from his right hand to his left preparatory to grabbing the disk, Justin reacted. Moving to his own left, he cut the distance between them in half by the time Ling’s finger tightened on the trigger. Fire exploded from Justin’s flank as needles raked like barbed claws through his vest and flesh. The pain shocked him and cost him a second as Ling thrust the gun at Justin’s stomach and pulled the trigger again.

  Two gunshots sounded as one. Ling’s faceplate fragmented into a thousand mirrored splinters as a cloud of darts slammed into the left side of his face. Already dead, he spun away from the impact, crashing against a slate-topped lab table. He slid to the ground in front of where Justin Xiang knelt with both arms clutched around his midsection.

  Justin looked up as Alexi dropped to his knees beside him. Concern and fear shot through the Tikonov native’s voice. “Take it easy, Justin. We’ll get you out. You’ll survive.”

  Justin nodded heavily, then coughed. “Yeah, I will. My flank feels like it’s on fire, and my stomach hurts like hell.” Hearing Alexi gasp, Justin forced himself to laugh. “It’s not as bad as you think, Alexi.”

  Malenkov patted Justin’s shoulder reassuringly. “You’re in shock. He shot you twice at point-blank range, Justin.”

  Justin could hear what Alexi was thinking. Needle pistol shot in the stomach at that range, my insides should be pâté. Justin eased his left hand out as he straightened up. “I’m fine, Alexi. If I’d not been so close, I’d have been in trouble.”

  Justin opened his left hand, revealing a myriad of crisscrossed silver scars on the metal palm and fingers. “Instinctively, I grabbed for his gun to redirect it. My hand blocked the blast at the muzzle before the darts could spr
ead. The impact drove my fist back into my stomach, knocking my wind out, but I’ll be all right.”

  Alexi looked down at Justin’s right side. “What about the first shot?”

  Justin shrugged and slowly stood. He steadied himself against the wall. “Flesh wound. Needles cut some coolant lines, and that stuff stings like hell in the lacerations, but no real damage. Just some more scars.”

  Justin caught Alexi looking at the holodisk from Candace, but the slender man only shrugged. “You’re my boss, Justin. You know what you’re doing. I know you’re not the spy I’m looking for, so I trust your judgment.”

  Justin cocked his head to the side. “Then why did you come back here?”

  Justin heard Alexi’s smile in his voice. “Didn’t trust Ling.” Punctuating his remark, Alexi stepped on Ling’s jammer and destroyed it.

  Radio chatter suddenly filled Justin’s ears. “Xiang, come in! Kwok and I have four ’Mechs coming in. Two read as Valkyries, one Jenner, and a Centurion. We’re moving to engage.”

  “Roger, Ivanov. Hold them. I’m coming up.” Justin pointed toward the lab’s door. “Alexi, get everyone out and back to the ship. We’ll hold the ’Mechs off, then join up. Got it?”

  “Check.” Alexi hesitated. “And Justin?”

  “Yes?”

  The tall man pointed at Ling’s body. “I’m glad we got that Davion assassin before he got you.”

  Justin nodded. “Amen to that. See you on the ship.”

  Chapter 12

  BETHEL

  CAPELLAN MARCH

  FEDERATED SUNS

  14 APRIL 3029

  Captain Andrew Redburn stared at the auxiliary monitor in his Centurion. “Say that again, Captain? What the hell are you telling me?”

  The captain of the Overlord-class DropShip gritted his teeth against the anger in Redburn’s voice. “I said we’ve been had, Redburn. They had a goddamned Leopard hiding in the Overlord’s shadow. It’s broken off and is heading back toward your base.”

  Andrew slammed his fist against the arm of his command couch. Andrew, you’re a flame-brained idiot! Sure, you learned how to anticipate the landing zone for incoming enemies, and you got your people here, but who taught you that little gem? Justin Xiang Allard! Andrew stiffened and clenched his fists so tight they went white. Dammit! Justin must have planned this little raid, and he knew I’d take the bait like a raw recruit. Maybe he’s even on the Leopard.

  Redburn looked at his primary monitor and saw that all of Delta Company, save himself and three others, had already gotten off the Defiant. “Listen up, Delta Company. We’ve got a Leopard heading back toward our base to rip things up while we’re here. Bisot, de Ridefort, St. Armand, and I haven’t unloaded yet, so we’ll head back. Drew, since we’re pulling two of your Valkyries, fold your lance in with Archie’s fire team.”

  “Roger, Cap.”

  Redburn shifted radio frequencies to the command frequency he shared with his second in command, Leftenant Robert Craon. “Robert, this is your play. You’ve got twenty-three ’Mechs in perfect working order. Their Overlord can carry thirty-six ’Mechs, though it’s probably light. Hit and run until you can size them up, then hurt them. If they decide to break off, let them run. But guard any salvage.”

  Craon’s voice came back strong and nearly devoid of nervousness. “Copy, Captain. Be careful.”

  Andrew nodded slowly. “Words to live by.” Punching a button, Andrew brought the Defiant’s captain back on screen. “Captain, how about boosting us back to the western perimeter of our base, low arc, high speed?”

  The older man smiled. “Course plotted and locked in. We’ll be there in just under fifteen minutes.”

  Andrew shuddered as he felt the vibrations of engine ignition thrum through the ship. Sweat trickled down his spine. They’ve got to be going for the lab, but how could they know about it? The garrison officer I took over from said the true identity of the lab had been passed only from commanding officer to commanding officer. Couldn’t have the garrison too big because Bethel is a nothing world. All they do is raise some grain on the plains and there’s that infant wine industry here in the mountains.

  Andrew keyed the radio connection to the three other pilots in his hastily formed lance. “Listen up, campers. This could be nasty. A Leopard peeled out of the Overlord’s sensor shadow and has headed off toward our base.” Andrew drew in a breath. Better make this sound good. “TerraDyne put out some press releases a couple of months ago talking about a breakthrough in miniaturization. Had an alert about it because they thought some local Maskirovka might take an interest. It looks like someone on Sian bought the story big time.”

  Odo St. Armand’s voice crackled into Andrew’s neurohelmet. “What are we looking at, Cap?”

  Andrew punched some commands into his computer and patched his primary monitor into the ship’s computer. The computer filled his display with a representation of the Leopard’s deceleration, handling, and energy output levels. “According to the computer, it looks like it was running with ’Mech weight, something slightly heavier than we are. Given Liao preferences, maybe a Centurion, a Vindicator, and a couple of that new thing they have…the Raven?”

  Andrew typed in another request for information, and the computer gave him a tactical readout on the Raven. Birdlike, the ’Mech sported two medium lasers on its right wing, a six-shot SRM pod on the right side of its body, and an electronic countermeasures package on its nose. Below that, the computer confirmed that his estimate of enemy strength would fit within the parameters suggested by the Leopard’s flight data.

  Andrew smiled. “The computer says there’s an eighty-percent chance my configuration is correct. The Raven has tissue paper for armor, but the ECM pod makes them tough to hit. Watch for them to ambush us. The Vindicator’s the only one of their ’Mechs that can jump. Its PPC will make short work of your Jenner, St. Armand, so steer clear unless you can get inside.”

  “Roger, Cap.” St. Armand laughed aloud. “I’ll take out the Raven, guys, if you want the Vindicator. I figure the Captain will want to go mano a mano with the other Centurion.”

  Redburn chuckled lightly. “That sounds fine, St. Armand. We’ll see if their new Centurions work any better than the one I’m sitting in.” Suddenly, a memory clawed its way up from where he consigned nightmares and unpleasant thoughts. Two years before, on a ship traveling from the Lyran Commonwealth to the Federated Suns, Andrew had seen the holovid of a battle on Solaris. Justin took part in that battle, and he fought in a Centurion.

  The instant that thought occurred to him, he knew that Justin was the pilot of the Liao Centurion. Conflicting emotions swirled through Andrew’s mind. Mostly he was angry because he saw this assault on his planet as a personal insult. He’s struck back at his father and at the Prince. Just over a year and a half ago, he sent assassins to kill me and the staff of Delta Company. He rejoiced, no doubt, when he found we were here protecting his prize.

  Andrew ground his teeth, then felt his stomach flip-flop. No, that can’t be what happened. If nothing else, the Justin Allard I knew was not a murderer. He’d not have sent assassins. I didn’t believe it then, and I have no reason to believe it now. Nausea soured the taste in his mouth. How could I think such horrible thoughts about a man who was my friend?

  A third emotion seared into Andrew, and his mind recoiled against all its implications. Whether or not he’s the same man you once called friend, he’s still a better MechWarrior than you’ll ever be. You saw what he did with a Valkyrie in combat with a Rifleman. Sure, the Valkyrie lost the fight, but there was enough armor blown off that Rifleman to build a Jenner. You’ll be going up against him in evenly matched Centurions, which means you’re still outgunned. He’s forgotten more about MechWarrioring than you’ll ever know.

  Captain Porter’s face appeared on Redburn’s primary monitor again. “We’re coming in, Redburn. Get your people ready!”

  Porter’s voice shocked Andrew out of his brooding. “Ready or not,
gentlemen. We’re on.”

  Porter had the ’Mech bay doors halfway open before the ship hit the planet’s surface. The DropShip settled roughly to the ground, and St. Armand’s Jenner cleared the hatch before the ramp had fully extended. De Ridefort and Bisot likewise used their jump jets to leave the ship’s hold. They set themselves up in a defensive perimeter as Redburn’s Centurion lumbered from the Defiant.

  The Centurion pointed west with its autocannon. “Let’s move it, but stay with my speed.” Redburn started his ’Mech sprinting down the road at 68 kph, its maximum speed. “You quick things can use your speed when we get into combat. Won’t be long now.”

  Gerald de Ridefort’s bass voice rumbled through the speakers in Andrew’s helmet. “Rules of engagement, sir?”

  Andrew swallowed hard. “If it moves, kill it. We’ll sort things out and apologize later.”

  Around a bend in the road and up a slight incline, the Valkyries began to outstrip the Centurion. From a dark copse on the left, Andrew saw a series of bright, arrow-like flashes as the two hidden Ravens let fly with SRM volleys. Explosions battered de Ridefort’s Valkyrie. Two missiles blasted armor from the ’Mech’s thick left thigh while another wreathed its right ankle in a halo of orange flame. The last missile detonated beneath the Valkyrie’s pointed chin, snapping the head up and around as it chipped armor plates away. The missiles that had missed peppered the hillside with brilliant bursts of vermilion and gold.

  As de Ridefort’s Valkyrie stumbled back away from the ambush, Andrew turned his Centurion to face the shadowed grove. The Centurion’s autocannon swept up and locked on target as the targeting crosshairs shot like a meteorite across Andrew’s holographic display. The golden cross flashed once, confirming target acquisition, and Andrew hit the trigger.