BattleTech : Mechwarrior - Dark Age 01 - Ghost War (2002)

by Michael A. Stackpole

  The problem is that neither Bernard nor Emblyn would abide by the outcome of such a battle.

  There would be more outbreaks and as folks got desperate, serious damage would be done. So far the attacks had caused a lot of property damage and inconvenienced people, but death had not slopped over into the civilian population. I was not sanguine about that situation continuing. Bernard's willingness to murder Public Safety officers indicated there would be no restraint on his part.

  And once he had taken power, I could imagine a lot of civil rights abuses in the name of maintaining security.

  This analysis was all well and good, but left me with nowhere to go and nothing to do, short of a wholesale murder spree-which, I will admit, was tempting. I mean, I knew I would never do it, which is why I could entertain the fantasy. Each clank of shrapnel in the dish was another bullet pumped into Bernard and Emblyn. I tossed Teyte, Catford and Siwek into that mix, just because I knew I'd have that many bullets in a clip, with a couple to spare for anyone who twitched one more time.

  Niemeyer looked over at me as an intern swathed his body in gauze. "Don't expect that your intervening there will spare you from prosecution."

  I frowned. "Look, let's cut to the chase, shall we? You're going to figure I was there as some sort of a spotter for the whole thing, right, which explains in your mind why I was present when things went down. You've seen my files and you know what I'm capable of piloting, so you know if I were going to be there in some capacity, I'd not have been there in a Cabochon. And if Iwas there working for FfW, why would I have rescuedyou? If I wanted to save you and your men, I wouldn't have called in reserves, right? And if I was working for the guy in the 'Mech, I'd not have pulled you out, right?" His nostrils flared. "So, you just happened to be there? Out for a midnight drive."

  "Yeah, insomnia is a horrible thing." I shook my head. "Look, there is no way you can prove I was there for any reason other than circumstance. You investigate, you find out I had lunch in the area, supper, too, but nothing sinister. I was definitely at the wrong place at the wrong time-'cept I was able to help you out. I don't regret that at all."

  His hands tightened on the edge of the treatment table. "So, you're telling me that the ends should justify your means?" "Nope, just that actions speak louder than words."

  Niemeyer snorted. "I'd rather believe you hit the accelerator by accident."

  "And I'd rather believe this is all a bad dream, but we both know it isn't." I shrugged. "You can haul me down to headquarters, or break into my hotel room, and grill me. You'll get nothing."

  His brows furrowed. "You truly think that second barrage was not an accident?" "I think of it as a weather forecast: seventy-five-percent chance of treachery, with mixed stupidity. We both know how it will be spun, and how it is being spun now. By noon you'll have him here, visiting survivors, talking to the media, building up a frenzy of activity. We both know it. You'll be lauded as a hero, as will he, and circumstance will toss you together. He'll be legit and your hands will be tied."

  "Not as much as you think."

  "But more than you'd like." I almost added, "And more than I'd like," but I held back. Sam never would have said that.

  "There's a lot of things I don't like, but I have to abide them." The big man shrugged, then exhaled loudly and seemed to shrink a little. He turned his head slightly and regarded me carefully.

  "You are a material witness. I'll want you to give a statement on what you saw."

  "Sure, I'll head down there later today. After the crowds have cleared from the media conferences."

  He nodded wearily, then slid off the examining table and stood. "I've got people to check, reports to make."

  "I have a question for you. You'll have to trust me with the answer."

  His head came back up as wariness tightened his eyes. "And the question is?" "Insider or anonymous tip?" "Just like before."

  Just like when I had tipped them about the Palace raid. This brought a new player into the mix, someone who wanted Ff W to fail. It had to be someone inside the organization, but who? Catford, Gypsy and Elle all had to be candidates. Tactical commanders would have been, too, but they wouldn't have called Public Safety in on themselves. I included Siwek just for the fun of it.

  Niemeyer watched me, then nodded. "You going to cause trouble?" "Probably, but not for you."

  "Why? Why not just leave?" "Did you have someone following me last night?" "No, but I know where you were. At one of the Basalt Foundations kitchens. You helped out."

  "So maybe I'll be helping out. It's a nice world you have here." I gave him a Sam-nonchalant shrug. "I would like to see it remain that way."

  Niemeyer hesitated for a moment, then nodded, but said nothing. He shuffled from the trauma room.

  An intern slapped a light anesthetic patch on my legs, then gave me a pair of scrub pants since mine had been cut clean off me. I retained the rags in a plastic bag because they held my identification, squawker, noteputer and some money. Wandering out of the hospital, I took one look at the smoking wreck of the Cabochon and hailed a hovercab. A Drac brought his cab over and picked me up.

  The trip back to the Grand Germayne did not take that long, but I managed to use my noteputer to do a bit of work before we arrived. True to my word, I was going to stir up some trouble, and I wanted to have a safety net in place to make sure I could clean up after myself.

  About a block and a half from the hotel, an unmarked Public Safety unit hit its lights and siren and the taxi pulled over. I gave a moment's consideration to bolting from the taxi and running, but my legs just weren't going to go along with that plan. Two plainclothes officers-the two on Bernard's payroll-approached with needle pistols drawn and ordered me out of the vehicle. While one of them conducted me back to their hovercar, the other told the taxi driver to get going and that unless he wanted to be associated with "all the other Drac terrorists," he'd just forget the fare.

  I snarled back over my shoulder, "Don't be cheap. You're bought and paid for. He works for a living. Pay hi. . ."

  The man behind me brought the butt of his gun down on the back of my neck, dropping me to my knees. A shove to the back bounced my face off the vehicle's door, and I slumped to the pavement.

  My nose hadn't broken, but it was leaking. I could feel the detective winding up for a kick that would drive a kidney up through my throat, but the rear door on the unit opened and two big boots hit the pavement.

  "No need for that, Oates. Mr. Donelly is our guest."

  I rolled onto my back and looked up at Teyte Germayne. While his voice had been pleasant, his expression was anything but. "Make sure he tips the driver. I'm a big tipper."

  Teyte leaned down and smiled coldly. "No, Donelly, you're not a big anything. You're nothing, should have remembered you were nothing, and should not have tried to defy Bernard. If you're lucky, it's a lesson you'll learn from. If not," the man shrugged, "hope that reincarnation is true."

  36

  As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods;

  They kill us for their sport.

  - Shakespeare

  Manville, Capital District

  Basalt

  Prefecture IV, Republic of the Sphere

  25 February 3133

  Teyte's exposing himself in public as my captor would really seem, on the surface, to be one of those stupid things done by Tri-Vid villains. They capture the hero, place him in a death trap and, before he dies, they tell him everything he needs to know to thwart them when he escapes, as he always does. How much better evil would function if the boss or his chief minion just put a gun to the hero's head and stroked the trigger.

  Not only do dead men tell no tales, they really don't often thwart plans.

  Teyte clearly saw it all differently. First, from his point of view, he was the hero and I was just a pawn being removed from play. As things developed over the next several days, there never was any question of Teyte's killing me; the questions were when to do it and who would have the pri
vilege.

  Bernard, I gathered, really wanted to do the job himself but events, as they unfolded, kept him far too busy.

  Teyte's presence on the scene was only a minor risk, since he was in the company of legitimate Public Safety officers. While he had no official standing with the department, it mattered not at all. He was a Germayne, and that was really all that counted. While most citizens would have disagreed with the idea that the Germayne cousins could do anything they wanted and get away with it, the Germaynes themselves swam counter to the conventional wisdom. In short, no one had told them they had to abide by the law. While their transgressions in the past might have been forgiven as minor and "youthful indiscretions," treason and the stakes being played for here elevated and intensified things.

  My captors allowed me to sit in the hovercar's backseat instead of the trunk this time, though Teyte moved to the front so I'd not bleed on him. En route to the little apartment where they decided to stash me they stopped only once, to smash both my squawker and noteputer and dump them into garbage bins. Destroying those devices was a tactical error, since they could have learned a few things from them, but they wanted to get rid of evidence. They did keep my identification, which, I assumed, they would leave with my body at some point.

  A bullet to the back of the head can sometimes make the sort of exit wound that renders quick identification difficult.

  From the very start I knew they would kill me and I was wondering why. I mean, there was no reason for them to let me live, but there was even less reason to want me dead. I'd been marginalized in FfW. Short of an all-out war, when Gypsy would sit my butt in a 'Mech, I was pretty much useless.

  My removal from the FfW command structure would have been a minor inconvenience, and actually would make Catford happy since Siwek would get my command.

  It did dawn on me slowly that Bernard had yanked me in, at least in part, because he really wanted to avenge himself for both my interfering at Number 8 and, more importantly, for my having showed I was smarter than he was. I'd brutalized him and Teyte at poker, I'd helped the family's black sheep, and I'd even provided him with the plan that he was using to fight back against Emblyn. As much as Bernard wanted to win the game, he wanted even more to be seen as the architect of it all, and I could expose him rather easily as a treasonous fraud.

  Teyte, judging by the fare we had to watch on the Tri-Vid unit, was well versed in the ways of stereotypical villains and heroes. While the apartment I'd been brought to was small, it had been lavishly appointed with a big display unit and a full entertainment package. The Tri-Vid dramas were all old, but full of action and adventure. There were a couple based on Victor Steiner-Davion's trip to the Clan Homeworlds and his slaying of their leader. Teyte did cheer for Victor, which might have been endearing save for the way he sat in his recliner as if it were a 'Mech command couch, moving his hands on the arms as if he was fighting the battles.

  They kept me restrained at all times, with a short hobble that stopped me from running. No one bothered to change the bandages on my legs, and I kept waiting to get a whiff of gangrene. My hands were kept cuffed behind the back of a stout wooden chair or to a bedpost when they let me sleep. I always had at least one person other than Teyte watching me, even when I relieved myself.

  I pretty much remained quiet during the whole time and caused no trouble. In part this was because I hoped they would let their guard down at some point. They did, to a certain extent, allowing me to do little things like pull out a lock of hair and scatter it around so some forensic investigator could find it and know I'd been there. I even managed to scratch open one of my leg cuts and dab some blood around. I wiped it up quickly, but I knew the application of chemicals and an ultraviolet light would make it show up easily.

  Mostly I kept quiet because events going on in the outside world got worse than I'd imagined they could. In between films we watched the local news stations. Count Germayne had activated the Basalt Militia and allowed them to deploy armored troops and vehicles all over the planet, not just down in the Capital District. Reports came in about protests that were put down hard and order being restored. Unless Gypsy had been a lot more active than I imagined, the demonstrations were spontaneous and their repression painted the government in a bad light. A few protesters were killed in one clash on the northern continent, and the government blamed the trouble on FfW, as one would expect.

  Bernard did emerge as a hero. No mention was made of his second salvo and how badly it hurt people. The media, looking for a convenient face to put on the government, lionized Bernard, and he took to it like a cat to cream. I could see that this made Teyte a bit uneasy at points, but I suspected he was looking to let Bernard be the stalking horse for trouble. He would play the loyal lieutenant until Bernard stumbled, then he could step in.

  This actually wasn't a bad plan. While the media suppressed the stories of antigovernment activity, the public safety folks who wandered in let slip a few things. FfW or copycats were petrol- bombing a variety of targets to make trouble. Nothing was as coordinated or devastating as a real FfW attack, but chaos is chaos and the government lost when too much chaos flared.

  To oppose chaos, Bernard imposed more order and, at least in the Capital District, Basalt Militia called up its MechWarriors and authorized patrols. The locals got great imagery of 'Mechs striding through the streets. Their torsos swung left and right, weapon muzzles tracked up and down. It was the first time in decades Basalt had seen such a sight.

  Bernard must have hired an image consultant because some of the scenes were silly. I half- expected shots of a 'Mech on the outskirts of town helping tug a stuck hovercar back onto the road or something, but these displays went further. In probably the most ridiculous of all, a pilot emerged from the cockpit of aHatchetman to provide a tourist with directions. She looked great, the tourists thankful, but the whole thing was rather farcical.

  Things began a slow escalation and likely would have taken two weeks or more to reach the flashpoint save for an event that was broadcast live. Count Germayne appeared at one of the Basalt Foundation kitchens-doubtless sent there to reap the benefit of association with Bianca, who was quite popular. The Count donned an apron and was on the serving line dishing up soup. He'd hand a bowl to his daughter who would then place it on a patron's tray. People would smile and nod and the Count almost looked as if he was enjoying himself.

  Then one young man named Gavin Prin-as Davion a specimen as Bernard or Teyte-produced a small holdout laser and lit the Count up from point-blank range. The red beam burned in halfway between right nipple and breastbone. The Count looked down at the black hole in his apron, then staggered back while the youth shifted for another shot. Bianca interposed herself between the assassin and her father and the man hesitated just long enough for other patrons to tackle him.

  The shot put the Count in critical condition in the hospital. I caught flashes of the same folks who had worked on me laboring hard to save his life. Bianca traveled to the hospital and was there, with Quam using his considerable bulk and Snookums' growl to keep the media at a respectful distance. Still, the long shots showed her sobbing, then looking up tearfully as a doctor came to give her the Count's prognosis.

  Bernard got nowhere near the hospital. Within fifteen minutes he was live on Tri-Vid, having assumed his father's authority. He looked shaken, so I dismissed any possibility that he had tried to have his father assassinated. He put the planet under martial law, declared the would-be assassin to be an agent of FfW and then dropped a huge bombshell.

  He stared right out at the viewers and said, "I have been given secret but incontrovertible evidence that Freedom from Want is funded entirely by Aldrington Emblyn. I have ordered his immediate arrest. He will be tried for treason and attempted murder, in accord with our law, with all penalties allowed to be applied."

  Almost immediately the view cut to a live shot of Public Safety officers taking Emblyn into custody. He, too, was shaken, though that quickly flowed into outr
age. "I am innocent of any and all charges of treason. All I have ever wanted for Basalt is the best, and you all know I have given it to you. Once everything is sorted out, the people of Basalt will see this for what it is: a purge of those Bernard Germayne hates. Beware, my fellow citizens, for as I am now, soon you shall be, unless you dare to be free."

  Teyte, ashen-faced, looked away from the Tri-Vid unit as Oates' squawker rang. The man unclipped it from his belt and went into the back bedroom to speak in private. Teyte blinked twice and, just for a moment, seemed very vulnerable.

  I saw a chance and I took it. "I hope you're certain of Bernard. If he plays this wrong, it all goes away. He can ruin this."

  "Shut up!" I let surprise fit like a mask over my face. "You don't actually think he had his father murdered, do you?" Teyte shook his head quickly. "No, he couldn't have."

  "You better hope not."

  "What do you mean by that?" "Think about it. The only evidence he has that Emblyn is involved in things is me. He doesn't want me able to contradict him: I know too much to be allowed to live." I jerked my head at the back room. "That call. That could be Bernard telling Oates that he has to kill us both, make it look like you came to capture me and I shot you, Oates shot me. It's perfect. He eulogizes you, since he can't eulogize his father quite yet, and he gets rid of a popular rival to power."

  "No, he wouldn't do that."

  "No?" I shook my head. "Call him. See if he's talking on his squawker."

  Teyte took the bait. He pulled his communications device and dialed. "Bernard, this is Teyte.

  Donelly's saying you had your father attacked and that you're going to kill us because he can't be left alive!" What he said was actually a bit more hysterical than that, and referred to me with a sobriquet that most JumpShippers would hesitate to use.

  What he said really didn't matter, however. Bernard spoke and Teyte started nodding. He said, "Yes, yes, of course, never doubted it. Yes, I will. I'll tell him." He then lowered the squawker and smiled calmly in my direction.