Lethal heritage

by Michael A. Stackpole

  "You do, indeed," said Morgan in a low voice. "This plan calls for the allocation of four Regiments: the Tenth Lyran Guards, both Kell Hound regiments, and the Ninth F-C RCT. Moving those units and the necessary support material and personnel will take 45 percent of our available JumpShip and DropShip resources. That severely limits my ability to move forces to the worlds the invaders are likely to hit in their next wave."

  Victor frowned deeply. "But we agreed, in a meeting two weeks ago, that it was foolishness trying to defend all the areas the invaders could possibly hit. It's a guessing game that we can only lose."

  "Just because we know we can't defend all the worlds doesn't mean we don't have to try," Morgan corrected him. 'This is more than just a military conflict, and you know it as well as I do. Ryan Steiner, for one, would be happy to pull the Isle of Skye out of the Commonwealth. If he were to hear that we'd made no effort to protect worlds in the Tamar March, he and his wife might decide to secede and negotiate their own pact with the invaders. That would neatly cut us off from the Federated Suns—a move you would agree is counterproductive."

  "Believe it or not, cousin, I did take that into consideration," Victor said, wishing that someone had strangled Ryari Steiner at birth. "We chose Twycross as a target for many reasons, most having to do with terrain and other significant combat factors. Though the political considerations of Twycross are given short shrift in the report, they did weigh in favor of its selection. The world is, after all, a Command center. How can Ryan fault us for trying to take back an important world in the Tamar March?"

  The Marshal said nothing. He leaned back in his chair and studied Victor for a long moment.

  Victor slammed his right fist on the table. "Dammit, Morgan, don't look at me that way! I'm well aware of the political implications of what we're doing here. I know this battleplan reads like some storybook warrior's grand plan to defeat enemy hordes and I can see in your eyes that it worries you. You think we put this together because we're a bunch of green warriors who think war is a game where we can win glory. It's not so."

  Victor looked up at the ceiling and forced himself to breathe slowly so he could regain control of his anger. "More times than I can count, I reviewed the holovid transmissions sent to the Hejira as it traveled to the rendezvous with the Strongbow. I know by heart the names of every man and woman in my old command, and I know who was still alive when I left, and who died. I've run millions of scenarios through my head to estimate who could have survived and for how long. That process, that torture, has purged from me any thoughts of glory in war."

  Pressing his palms flat against the table, he leaned forward heavily. "Next April, I celebrate my twenty-first birthday. From that time on, I will be of age and eligible to rule the united Federated Commonwealth. My mother has guided the Lyran Commonwealth with strength and wisdom. My father is a military genius who engineered the conquest of the Capellan Confederation. I have one hell of a lot to live up to if I'm ever to lead and unite both of these nations. I have to earn the respect of my people, and I have to prove I'm capable of doing whatever is necessary to protect them."

  Some of the vehemence drained from his voice, but none of the pain. "I believe you once told my father that, given a bucket of water, you'd storm the gates of hell for him. Well, I confess to wanting a bit more than that in the way of resources for my little battle. I've picked a world notorious for brutal weather and a treacherous terrain because most of the population lives underground and will be out of the way. I also imagine that the Jade Falcons will leave behind as few troops as possible because Twycross is really a station where troops should be sentenced to serve."

  Andrew Redburn flipped open his copy of the plan. "Though the Diabolis storm will provide superior cover, the Ninth F-C isn't going to appreciate being asked to move with it."

  "Nobody would," Victor agreed. "Running around in that giant sandstorm is not going to be fun or easy, but it will give us the edge we need. Besides, the Ninth has trained in storms just as fierce as the Diabolis." He hesitated for a moment, then continued, somewhat subdued. "They just aren't that big!"

  Dan Allard leaned forward and rested his clasped hands on the table. "For the record, Highness, I have reviewed your plan with Chris here and Lieutenant-Colonels Brahe and Bradley. We've agreed to the plan. Furthermore, I have been assured by Janos Vandermeer that there does, indeed, exist a pirate point close to Twycross III. Because the fourth planet in that system is a hot gas giant, he also believes that we can recharge the JumpShips there at approximately half-efficiency. With ion engine assist, we could jump back out within a week."

  "Twycross is also an important BattleMech production center, Marshal." Victor quickly controlled the smile on his face. "We can use its stores and facilities to help maintain our force."

  "How long can you hold Twycross?" Morgan asked.

  Victor sighed heavily. "I don't know. Obviously, that depends on how long it takes for the Jade Falcons to notice we took it, and what they send back to retake it. My forces can either defend it, pull out, or even jump further back toward the rim if we recover sufficient supplies in the assault. The net effect is that the Jade Falcons will have to pull line troops away from their invasion force to hunt us down. Suddenly, they'll have to play the same guessing games that we're playing."

  Morgan steepled his fingertips in a gesture Victory had learned, after long years of associating with his cousin, to fear. Before Morgan could pronounce sentence on the plan, Victor made one last plea. "Morgan, remember what you told me back on Tharkad this time last year? You reminded me that my father held you back until the time was right. I understand your reservations and I respect them, but you weren't much older than I am now when you formed the Uhlans and did the impossible. My plan isn't impossible. It can succeed, and I am ready to make it do so. Trust me in this ... please. Give me this chance, or else take out a gun and shoot me, because my future rides on this plan."

  Morgan looked down and closed his eyes as he rubbed the fingertips of his left hand against his forehead. Silence settled over the conference room. To Victor, it seemed that time slowed to a tortoise pace. Please, Morgan, you must let me go!

  Morgan exhaled heavily, then opened his eyes. "Revise your plan to increase ammunition supplies to sufficiency for six weeks of pitched battles. Boost estimated personnel numbers to 120 percent of current and give them two months' worth of supplies to help cover refugees along the way. Append a plan for evacuating civilians offworld and add a list of tentative strike sites and routes heading back out toward the rim and toward the enemy flank. Also, we need a full listing of possible pirate points and recharge times for all available escape routes."

  His gaze flicked up to meet Victor's blue eyes. "You will personally prepare papers to indemnify the Kell Hounds for their losses. Your rules of engagement will stress minimization of civilian involvement. I want triple redundancy on your warning system for the Ninth F-C so they don't blunder out of the Diabolis into a Jade Falcon ambush. Prepare and include a plan for the isolation of the ComStar facility in Daubton."

  Victor blinked at Morgan. "It's a go! You're giving me this assault?"

  The Marshal nodded once. "Your plan's not flawless, but the gain outweighs the risk. Of the plans I've to consider, it's the best."

  Victor looked down at Kai, flashing him a smile, then returned his attention to Morgan. "I can't thank you enough ..."

  Morgan held up his right hand. "Don't thank me. Even though Colonel Allard will be the force commander, I'm making you responsible for the lives of every man, woman, and child on Twycross. That is an awesome burden, but it's only a taste of what you'll assume when you take the throne. Twenty years from now, after the assault has been forgotten by all but a few historians, then decide if you want to thank me or not."

  Victor Steiner-Davion narrowed his eyes. Truly spoken, cousin. "In twenty years then, Morgan."

  After the meeting was dismissed, Victor caught up with Kai in the hallway outside. "Well, we d
id it. We're on for Twycross." Kai's subdued nod started alarm bells ringing in Victor's head. "What's wrong? Don't tell me you've got butterflies now, after it's all over."

  Kai shook his head. "No, it's not that. When they had me do some resource-checking, I saw that my 'Mech hasn't arrived yet, and won't in time for it to catch up with us." He looked over at Victor. "Due to some bureaucratic snafu, I'm Dispossessed!"

  That word stabbed through Victor like a knife. Dispossessed! Is there a fate worse than being a MechWarrior without a 'Mech? He shuddered.

  "I can transfer command of my lance to Leutnant Abel von Rhemmer," Kai went on. "He just joined the Tenth from the Nagelring. He ought to do okay."

  "The hell you say!" Victor grabbed Kai by the shoulders and turned him around. "Listen here. We worked out this plan with you in it, at the head of your lance. Dammit, we have your whole battalion slated for crisis management because some of your people are best at thinking on their feet—and you top that list, my friend."

  Kai hung his head. "I appreciate the pep-talk, but that won't get Yen-lo-wang here any faster." His head came up. "But don't worry. I wouldn't miss this for all the worlds in the Tamar March. I'll be there, in the command post or wherever else you want me. I'm not trying to weasel out, just facing facts."

  "Kai, the facts are these: I want you there, and I want you in a 'Mech at the head of your lance." Victor frowned. "What the hell good is it being the son of the Prince of the Federated Suns and the Archon of the Lyran Commonwealth if I can't get a friend a 'Mech?" He sighed. "It's not likely to be Yen-lo-wang, but it could be something similar. Don't you worry. I'll find you a war-horse."

  Kai smiled gratefully. "Do I have to wait twenty years to thank you?"

  Victor laughed, draping his arm over Kai's shoulder and steering his friend down the hall. "Yeah. I think that's a good idea. That way we're both certain to still be around."

  "I'll be there, Highness."

  Victor smiled to himself. And with your help, Kai, so will I.

  32

  JumpShip Dire Wolf, Assault Orbit, Engadin VII

  Radstadt Province, Free Rasalhague Republic

  30 August 3050

  Phelan Kell flopped down on his bunk in the dormitory and groaned as his legs stretched out. "God, I'm exhausted."

  Griff, walking past, slapped Phelan on the thigh. "She's keeping you up nights, eh?"

  Irritation flashed over Phelan's face, but he let it slide. "No, that's not the problem. It seems Engadin had a Home Defense Force just bristling with Inferno missiles in handheld launchers. There are apparently stockpiles all over the place on numerous little satellite assembly plants. They're giving Star Colonel Marcos absolute fits, and Lara's been having me go over intelligence reports to advise her what sort of support she should allow Marcos in the assault."

  Griff stared incredulously at the Kell Hound as he dropped onto his own bunk. "One commander is rationing supplies for a rival?"

  The mercenary shrugged. "It's a screwy system, but it doesn't seem to have slowed their advance any. In fact, as I hear the rumors, the other three Clans are madder than hell about the Wolves getting their fourth wave off a month ahead of everyone else. Also, the Wolves are deeper into the Successor States than the others. It's all really weird."

  "To put it mildly." The older man smiled and winked at his friend. "With them keeping you so busy, I thought you'd want to spend what little free time you have with Ranna." He smiled sheepishly. "I was going to appropriate your lockpick and make a run over to the women's quarters."

  "I've only had one real chance to speak with her but Vlad made sure he found something else for me to do instead," Phelan said gloomily. "I don't know where she is now."

  The Periphery bandit leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Your voice is saying something different than your words."

  Phelan sighed. He knew he had to trust someone, and maybe talking it out would keep him from blowing it all out of proportion. "I don't know if it's a problem, really. I mean, I think things are going very well between Ranna and me, but every so often something happens that just doesn't feel right. When I suggested getting together, she said she wanted time to herself."

  Griff frowned. 'That can be a good sign and a bad one. You haven't been having any other ... problems, have you?"

  "No, all systems are go," Phelan said with a laugh. "Though I have to admit a few instances of automatic shutdown because of overheating and sensory overload."

  "Is the problem that you're only a bondsman?"

  "Maybe, but I don't think so," Phelan said. "What it could be is more insidious than that. Unlike most of the others, Ranna isn't just a death-machine pilot. Remember I told you about her pet, Jehu, and the paintings? She's ... we're ... intense, I guess you'd call it passionate, in a way that's got to be more alien to her than to me. I think she finds that intensity incredibly seductive, but at the same time dangerous."

  "So what lures her also repels her," Griff grunted.

  "And the tug of war is ripping her up. What's worse is that I don't think she sees it clearly, and so she's got no way of dealing with the conflict." Phelan shrugged. "Of course, this is all pure speculation about a problem that may not even exist. The real explanation is probably a lot simpler."

  Griff chuckled evilly. "Yeah, she's probably just found a younger stud from that last crop of bondsmen captured on Rasalhague."

  "Yeah, there you go." The Kell Hound gave his friend a withering look. "And I suppose that's why you want the lockpick? Going to properly welcome the new women to our little community?"

  "Service with a smile. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it." The bandit's voice dropped in volume. "And I have another little convert mission to perform. Kenny and I want to leave Vlad a token of our appreciation for giving us a double-shift to unload junk from Rasalhague into the storage holds of the Dire Wolf. I'd invite you along, but I don't think you need any more reasons for Vlad to hate you."

  "No, I think I'll pass on that," Phelan said, rolling over on to his right side. Snaking his left hand beneath the mattress, he pulled out the small box. He handed it to Griff. "I'm not so sure visiting Vlad is a good idea. You might want to reconsider it."

  Griff shrugged. "We'll see."

  "Whatever." Phelan lay back down on his cot, his right forearm across his eyes. "Have fun."

  "Yes, mother. Don't wait up."

  Phelan bolted upright as Griff ripped his mattress back and tossed the lockpick beneath it. All through the dormitory, ex-pirates dove into their beds and pretended to be fast asleep. Griff let Phelan's mattress flop back down, then hopped onto his own cot and draped the blanket over himself.

  Phelan blinked twice, then peered through the gloom at his friend. "What the hell happened?"

  "Nothing." Griff slammed a fist angrily into his pillow. "Just go to sleep. It's better if you don't know."

  Kenny Ryan's voice cut through the darkness. "Tell him, Griff."

  Ryan's weaseling tone and Griff's quick denial told Phelan that whatever had happened, it was a disaster of major proportions. "Dammit, Griff, don't leave me hanging. You used my lockpick, and that means I'm involved. What happened?"

  "Tell him, Griff, or I will," Ryan insisted.

  "No, you son of a bitch. No!" Griff rolled over onto his side to face the young mercenary. "We went to Vlad's room. We opened the door. He was there. End of story. Now go to sleep."

  Phelan stared at Griff. "Did he see you?"

  "No. It was dark. At most, we were silhouettes in the doorway. There, now you know what happened. Go to sleep."

  Before Phelan could ask another question, Ryan's voice broke in. "Tell him all of it, Griff. Do it, or I will, and you know I'll enjoy it."

  Phelan heard the squeaking sound of Griff's teeth grinding together. "Vlad wasn't alone ..."

  "What the hell difference does that make to me?" Phelan said, but he wondered why Kenny Ryan should be so intent on him finding out. If Kenny wants me to know, it has to be bad ... Th
en the answer hit him. "No," he gasped. "It can't be ..."

  "Hey, you guessed it, Kell," Ryan said cheerfully. "She was there with him and they weren't discussing troop movements." His voice dropped conspiratorially. "You didn't tell us she was a screamer, Kell."

  The mental image of Ranna and Vlad coupling as light from the hallways splashed over them seared into Phelan's brain. All his own recollections of their times together became bitter, acid memories. The softness of her flesh under his hands became the caress of a thousand razor blades. Her cries of pleasure became mocking laughter and the love he had imagined in her eyes became contempt. I've been an idiot! Ulric has been using me, Vlad has been using me, and Ranna has been using me. I'm a tool, nothing more. It satisfies Ulric to have my counsel from time to time. It satisfies Vlad to make my life miserable. It satisfied Ranna to ...

  The deep ache in the pit of his stomach kept him from finishing that thought. He turned to Griff, ignoring Ryan's mocking laughter, and swallowed hard. "Thanks for trying to protect me, but it's better I know ..."

  Griff reached out to give Phelan's shoulder a squeeze. "I would have found a way to let you down easy, you know. I wouldn't have left you in the dark."

  "Let him down? Keep him in the dark? God, stop it, Griff. You're killing me with these puns."

  Griff threw back his blanket. "I'm gonna kill you with my bare hands, you malignant dwarf!"

  Phelan saw Ryan's silhouette a few bunks away. "What's the matter? Isn't Kell man enough to fight his own battles, quineg?" Ryan's voice took on a razored edge. "Of course not. If he was a man, his little love-bitch wouldn't have found herself someone else, would she?"

  The whispered sound of the door sliding open preceded the harsh flood of lights by a half-second. Phelan shaded his eyes and saw Vlad framed in the doorway. His blue jumpsuit was unzipped to the waist and sweat glistened on the mat of curly black hair on his chest. His eyes seemed to burn with fury and his expression looked positively demonic.