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

by Michael A. Stackpole

My energy.

  I discovered that Bernard had made himself a third enemy: ME.

  I brought my crosshairs around and dropped them on the outline of Bernard'sCatapult .

  Without a second's hesitation I launched two flights of missiles at him, and he returned the favor. Both of our attacks hit solidly. Heat from the missile launchings flooded my cockpit, then his missiles poured down over me. Ghost shook as if in an earthquake and the explosions sounded as if I were in the heart of a Basalt thunderstorm. Light flashed, shrapnel pinged. Alarms went off in my cockpit and the outline of my 'Mech on the primary monitor went from green to yellow as armor was reduced to dust.

  My Mad Cat III staggered, but I managed to keep it on its feet despite a feeling of dizziness and sweat burning into my eyes. Though my 'Mech massed less than the Catapult , I could hit harder. My only weakness was that Ghost was a bit more fragile than Bernard's 'Mech. As the smoke cleared around me, I cut to the left, moving perilously close to Siwek's old command.

  Another barrage from Alba's lance nibbled at the rear of Bernard's mercenary formation. Her troops emerged from the rain forest and were angling toward the last of Siwek's command, but kept their fire on Bernard's mercs. The implications were clear: they didn't have to get dead if they didn't want to. The Militia ripping into their former comrades gave everyone a pretty good indication of the locals' dislike for them.

  Bernard fired at me again, but as we were both moving, half his missiles missed and the rest just ground armor away. I retaliated by hitting him with some lasers that burned away the last of the armor over his left thigh. Another chunk of damage there and he'd go down.

  Easier said than done, however. He was already moving east, toward Siwek's company, doubtless exhorting them to enter the fight. With his 'Mech moving that fast, the chances of me getting a specific enough target lock to take that leg out were slim. Each step carried him further from me, but if I pursued, I would trade movement for range in targeting trouble.

  Janella's voice crackled over the speakers. "Be aware, helping Bernard Germayne will subject you to arrest by The Republic as well. You can never hide. He cannot save you."

  I keyed my microphone. "Not only that: he's broke. You'll never get what he promised you."

  I must say that is the nice thing about mercenaries: they are loyal to themselves and have a fine grasp of microeconomics. The two SM1s swiveled their turrets and shot, but not at Bernard. Their autocannon fire gnawed through two of the Jessies. The rest of Siwek's old command focused on Bernard's mercs as well, making them into an "Oh God why me?" sandwich against Alba's force and the Militia.

  Bernard flew on toward the rain forest, seeking escape. I punched two buttons on my communications console and tightbeamed a message to him. "Has Germayne blood turned yellow, Bernie? Is it that you're stupid enough to think that if you run away, you'll live to fight another day? Teyte didn't-I saw to that-and I'll do you, too."

  I'm not sure if it was just the words, or his recognizing my voice, but sparks flared from beneath his 'Mech's feet as he brought it around to face me. The LRM launchers on the 'Mech's shoulders spat fire. His anger might have made him foolish, but it also focused him. Though my antimissile system whined and picked off a few projectiles, Bernard's salvos still smashed unerringly into Ghost, ripping the right arm clean off.

  The blasts staggered the 'Mech. I slipped to the left-was knocked to that side, truth be told.

  Sweat and a bit of blood from my bitten tongue filled my mouth. Struggling with the controls, I kept the 'Catupright, then shifted the left foot forward and raked my crosshairs over his 'Mech. Bernie, in what he saw as a moment of triumph, stood there, tall, imposing-his 'Mech mirroring his posture at our first meeting.

  The gold dot on my crosshairs burned bright.

  My missiles streaked out on smoky ropes linking me with him. He had no defense, but even the best would not have blunted my attack. His momentary motionlessness, his arrogance, gave me a better target than he really wanted. The missiles leaped from the 'Cat, then dipped down for a second before all arrowed in at his Catapult .

  Bernard's 'Mech had lost all the armor from the left thigh. While not all my missiles struck that target, out of forty enough did reach it. Explosions clawed their way through the myomer muscles.

  They chopped at ferro-titanium bones, knocking great chips from them while other blasts just twisted and warped them. The Catapult , which massed sixty-five tons, shifted to the left as the ravaged bone screamed and parted. The shin fell back and the 'Mech crashed left.

  It landed hard on a missile rack, which exploded and almost managed to pitch the 'Mech back upright. I could almost feel Bernard's spirit soaring for a second. In his mind, I was certain, he felt victory in his grasp.

  He clung to it the way a drowning man clings to a life preserver.

  It did no good. The Catapult crashed back down and Bernard's plans crashed with it.

  And as smoke shrouded his ruined 'Mech, I smiled.

  With the final shots they fired, Siwek's company became a mercenary unit led by Kim Knutson -the Pack Hunter 's pilot. They called themselves Knutson's Rangers and accepted a hundred- thousand-stone reward for holding Bernard's troops off-which I paid out of the monies I'd earned at Emblyn's casino. I believe their intention was to try to get off Basalt with their rides and offer their services as mercenaries in what they saw as coming troubles. Janella pointed out that this simply was not going to happen since they had been involved in actions to overthrow the legitimate government.

  The government of Basalt came up with a plan that traded ten years of community service in return for full pardons. The Rangers and their equipment were drafted into the Basalt Militia, strengthening it greatly. Even before their service would be finished, those who were not Republic citizens would have earned the right to become citizens. While this was appreciated by many, it wasn't by one or two who believed The Republic would not last that long.

  The plan and the general amnesty that moved toward reconciliation was crafted by the planet's new leadership. Count Hector did recover from his wound, but would never be the robust man he had been before. He had a change of heart, which many put down to rumors that he'd actually died in the hospital and had been revived. Others assumed that learning of his son's treachery had wounded him more deeply.

  I put it down to the fact that while Bernard was off trying to supplant his father, Bianca had been there at her father's side. The media reports would have had everyone believe that anyone Bianca had ever helped had turned around and sent messages and flowers, or made donations in her father's name. The outpouring of concern for how she felt was tremendous and, for once, the media couldn't blow it all out of proportion.

  Bianca, at her father's request, assumed leadership of Basalt and immediately set about using her network of friends to calm fears, organize relief efforts and expand the sorts of things she was already doing. The people rallied around her and the peace that Basalt had known again descended on the planet.

  Public Safety personnel did manage to nab Gypsy and, with just a little pressure, he began to sing loud and long about his affairs both on Basalt and elsewhere. Republic analysts are still poring over the transcripts of his interviews, pulling out tidbits. If even a tenth of what he reports is accurate, the burgeoning political storms on the horizon really could rend The Republic. Some people have dismissed his claims as clearly fanciful, but based on what I saw on Helen and Basalt, I fear he could tell us even more, all of it true.

  His testimony was enough to convict Aldrington Emblyn of multiple counts of treason. Share prices of Ring's corporation collapsed abruptly, which caused something of a disaster for those people who had invested in it. Bianca's Basalt Foundation organized a relief effort there, funded by large donations by two savvy individuals who had shorted a vast amount of Emblyn stock. On the way back to the hotel from the hospital, I'd shorted a million shares and suggested to Quam that he do the same.

  He shorted two million: "Wh
en I get advicethat good, I employ it twice."

  Jacob Bannson swept in and snapped up Emblyn's holdings at fire-sale prices. He guaranteed jobs would continue and that he would find a way to let the entire Inner Sphere know what a stunning resort destination Basalt was. It was a quick and brilliant move on his part, for not only did it save Basalt's economy and let him expand into a market he'd not previously had, but everyone on Basalt thought nothing but the best of him. He'd bought a lot of loyalty, and I was afraid of how he might go about spending it.

  My concerns stemmed from the fact that I was pretty sure Bannson had been the instigator behind everything. Isabel Siwek's files showed she'd been given a million stones to come over to Bernard's side, and Bernard didn't have that sort of money. Someone had bought him a present. I was fairly certain that someone was Elle, who had vanished. She'd set me up to be killed or arrested on the night of the raid on Number 8: if I'd not died there, Gypsy could have figured her leak to me became my leak to Bernard, so he'd have had me killed. Since I was a moderating influence and once I was out of the picture things escalated sharply, it struck me that she was playing both ends against the middle, and Bannson certainly did well in that middle.

  My speculations about Bannson never made it into the media, primarily because the chronicler of all things treasonous and evil held himself to very high journalistic standards. Armed with exclusive interviews from a Republic Knight, Colonel Niemeyer, Kim Knutson, Countess Bianca Germayne and a shadowy insider who laid bare the entire covert war for control of Basalt, Quam vaulted from life- style commentary and restaurant reviews to investigative journalism at its finest. His stories, which were well written and delivered even better when he hosted a documentary series, elevated him to a position of respect that he never would have imagined he would know.

  The other nice thing about working with Quam is that we were able to kill Sam Donelly and leave him dead. Bernard's conviction on charges of treason far overshadowed the auxiliary charge of conspiracy to murder Sam. Someday I'll go back to Obsidian Island and visit him. He'll have lots of time on his hands. I wonder if he'll want to play cards? All is well, they say, that ends well, and the war for Basalt did end well. Casualties were minimized and damage done likewise. Still, there was some unfinished business that needed taking care of. Though I could only watch on Tri-Vid from a bar on Helen, I did smile as newly minted Republic Knight-Errant Nicodemus Niemeyer and his aide, Alba Dolehide-seconded to duty with him after her recall to and reinstatement in Stone's Lament-arrested Ichabod Reis.

  When Gypsy started singing, the events on Helen had become very clear. Reis had hired Gypsy to organize a small terrorist group so the citizenry would back Reis' getting more power. In the jittery days after the HPG net went down, the plan worked perfectly.

  Andy Harness turned on his barstool, jerked a thumb at the Tri-Vid projection, and smiled.

  "Could you believe that, Sam? He finally got what was coming to him. There he was, thinking he was invincible, and they got him. Shows there's some justice in the universe, after all."

  "That there is." I wanted to tell him that Niemeyer's next task was to find him, interview him, and present him a lump sum representing all the pension he'd been robbed of, but that wasn't my place. I'd told Niemeyer to take holos. I wanted to see the look on Andy's face, but it was time for Sam Donelly to fully fade away.

  I tossed a ten-stone note on the bar and pointed to Andy's mug. "Keep it coming and cold until this is gone." I slid from my stool and slapped him on the back. "Be good, Andy. Have a good life."

  He looked up at me. "Don't say it like that, Sam, geez. Makes it sound as if I'll never see you again, as if you're dead or something."

  "In vino veritas, and beer, profundity." I smiled and backed toward the door. "Iam dead, Andy.

  You won't see me again."

  "I'll see you again, Sam." The man hoisted his refilled mug in a salute. "You'll be around. You don't look like a ghost to me."

  No, my friend, I don't, which is exactly why I am one.

  The End.

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