The ilKhan rubbed his left hand over his goatee. "Their military strength is actually not so great a concern of mine. We will, after all, learn what they are using to defend or attack during the bidding process, quiaff? No, I should have stated my question more clearly. Assuming they are going to seek a military solution to our invasion of Terra, I want you to tell me what you know of the Precentor Martial."
Phelan's heart leaped in his chest. Does Ulric know that I once agreed to help the Precentor Martial discover the true goal of the Invasion? "I don't believe I know that much about him."
"Oh?" The ilKhan arched a snowy eyebrow. "You spent a great deal of time with him, at my request, so you must have gained some impressions of the man. Tell me what you know."
Phelan concentrated, trying to remember every detail possible about the leader of ComStar's military. "He comes from the Lyran Commonwealth—his name and his German are enough to tell me that. He also mentioned having stayed at the Lestrade estate on Summer at one point. That would suggest to me he was a noble or was assigned to a military unit stationed on Summer." Phelan frowned. "He also went to the Nagelring, which pegs him solidly as being from the Commonwealth."
"I see." A predatory smile spread across Ulric's face. "Would it surprise you if I said no one named Anastasius Focht ever attended, much less graduated from, the Nagelring?"
Phelan thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Neg. It has only been in the last ten years or so that ComStar has even had a Precentor Martial. You think Anastasius Focht is an alias, quiaff?"
"I have no doubt of it at all. You see, Phelan, the name Anastasius means 'one who will rise again,' or resurrection. Focht is an old German name meaning 'one who fights.' " The ilKhan smiled grimly. "I can see the man who is the Precentor Martial adopting that name in triumph at his return, or as a constant reminder to avoid that which caused his downfall before. A man who is capable of choosing that name is most dangerous."
"Then I take it you want me to work on discovering who he is?"
The ilKhan nodded. "Natasha's archivist has lain the groundwork for the study, but I have reassigned him to another investigation. I need you to crack Focht's identity, but I also need you to provide me the insights I will need to outbargain and defeat him."
"I will do this, my Khan."
"Understand, Phelan, that your mission is more important than anything else you have been asked to do as a member of the Wolf Clan. If we are not the ones to take Terra, if another Clan does it, there will be no way to stop them."
Phelan looked up, confused. "Stop them?"
"The Clan that takes Terra will appoint a new ilKhan. If a Crusader is chosen, the war will not end at Terra. It will continue until every world acknowledges the Clans their masters, or has been burnt to a cinder."
* * *
Phelan let the shower's hot water drum numbness into his brain. Hours and hours of sitting in front of a computer console reviewing thousands of files had made his eyes burn and his shoulders ache. When he realized he'd placed a cup of soup in a microwave, then forgot to turn it on, he decided to call it a day. As Ranna was working to reconfigure her Lupus before their next assault, he decided to relax by taking a shower.
The gymnasium shower room was empty when he arrived, but the hiss of a second shower spray brought Phelan around. He smiled until he could clear the water from his eyes, then he spat at the floor. "Taking a shower, Vlad? I thought you had to be degreased."
The other naked MechWarrior returned Phelan's venomous stare. Though Vlad was not a bad-looking man, the scar that ran down the left side of his face from eyebrow to jaw was neither exotic nor attractive. Phelan felt that was because it mirrored the man's cruel streak. "Degreased? I think not. I spend no time with you, therefore I remain unsoiled."
Vlad looked at Phelan and his lip curled up in a sneer. "It appears the bruises Dean inflicted on you have healed. How fortunate. Seldom are those who tangle with Elementals allowed to learn from their mistakes."
"At least I met my foe on equal footing."
"Such is the defense of those who are hunted." Vlad stepped into the stream of water, then smoothed down the hair from his black widow's-peak. "I obtained my kill in near record time. Your fight looked like those staged combats we have seen broadcast from Solaris. It was a joke."
"Tell that to Dean. At least he is still alive." Phelan's hands itched to close around Vlad's throat.
"You are too delicate to win the Bloodname, Phelan. Cyrilla made a poor choice in you." Vlad shook his head contemptuously. "Not killing your foes is a weakness you must overcome, freebirth."
"You can bet I will, Vlad." Phelan laughed. "Just in time for our battle in the finals."
14
ComStar First Circuit Compound, Hilton Head Island
North America, Terra
25 February 3052
Primus Myndo Waterly reveled in the Precentor Martial's obvious discomfort at having been summoned to her presence. "It is so good to have you back here on Hilton Head, Anastasius." No more of your little "virtual-reality" games when we speak.
"As always, Primus, I am pleased to be in your presence." The taut lines around his mouth betrayed his true feelings to her, but Myndo was absolutely certain he had no clue he had given himself away. "You said you had reached a decision on my plan concerning the Clans and battling with them."
She left him standing in the center of her circular chamber while she moved toward the demi-lune window overlooking the courtyard below. She knew that the sunlight streaming through the window would wreath her in a fiery nimbus. She sought that effect, pleased as the light glancing off her golden silk robe hurt even her eyes. Her ploy forced the Precentor Martial to avert his eye and denied him the ability to see more than a silhouette of her face.
"I have reviewed your plans and I believe you have chosen correctly in selecting Tukayyid. Your plans for safeguarding the population were well-conceived, but I believe we will have to evacuate the world."
The Precentor Martial reacted visibly to that suggestion. "Evacuate the world?"
"Of course. That is the only way to truly minimize the possible civilian casualties, is it not? We want to present the correct image in arranging this battle."
"I doubt very sincerely the Clans will care one way or another what we do with the civilians, Primus."
Who cares about the Clans? Myndo folded her arms into the sleeves of her robe. "Anastasius, I am concerned about how the public views our action. By evacuating the world, we will show ourselves more concerned with the people than any government."
Focht adjusted the black patch over his right eye. "And the government of Rasalhague has agreed to this?"
"They will if they wish their ragged intelligence network to continue to function." Myndo scowled as the Precentor Martial frowned. Yes, Focht, it is politics dictating to the military what will happen. That is the way it has always been, and will always be. "Precentor Martial, do not think ill of me. You know it is best to evacuate those people, and I will do what I must to care for them."
"I thank you for this unexpected boon. This means I no longer have to commit troops to protect civilian targets." Focht brought his head up. "And my troop requests?"
Myndo opened her arms. "Aside from small infantry garrisons on the worlds we are administering for the Clans, the Com Guards are yours. Before you protest, let me say that we need troops to protect our facilities after you defeat the Clans. I am just being cautious."
The Precentor Martial nodded slowly and turned away. "Concerning the BattleMechs stored here beneath Hilton Head. They will be made available to us?"
"Of course." The Primus moved away from the window and descended to the floor of the chamber. "How can you wonder if I would deny you anything in this battle to save Terra? The Clans are poised like a dagger over our heart and you are the only person who can prevent them from killing ComStar."
Focht turned to face her again. "Forgive me, Primus, but I have witnessed enough debates in the Fi
rst Circuit to know that you are quite capable of manipulating individuals, myself included. You will forgive me for speaking frankly, but I would have expected more opposition to my plans."
Myndo forced herself to laugh lightly. "Anastasius, you have not fooled me. I know your demands for supplies and troops were padded because you expected me to slice away at them. And I intended to do just that, but as I studied your plans, I saw how important it was to support you fully. If you planned to defend us with only a portion of the things you requested, I could empower your plans more fully by giving you all you requested.
"Make no mistake about it, Precentor Martial, I understand very, very well the historical nature of the battle you are going to undertake. You will have nearly fifty regiments of BattleMechs. You will have armor and artillery and aerospace and infantry at your disposal. You will have under your command the largest armed force ever gathered since General Aleksandr Kerensky left with the Star League army."
The Precentor Martial watched her intently while she managed to keep her expression innocent. Her dark eyes met his stare but without challenge. "I hear what you are saying, Primus, but I find myself unable to fully believe it."
Myndo concealed her irritation with a soft, gentle voice. "But you can trust me, Precentor. We have the same goal. If I betray you, we both die."
The tall man nodded. "I am reminded of a story in which a scorpion and a blind dog have to cross a stream. The scorpion says, 'Let me climb on your back. I will direct you across the stream.' The blind dog tells the scorpion that he cannot trust him because the scorpion can sting him to death. The scorpion counters that if he stings the dog in midstream, they both will die. The dog agrees, but when they are in the middle of the stream, the scorpion does sting the dog. As they slowly sink, the dog asks, 'Why did you sting me? Now we will both die.' The scorpion replies, 'I stung you because I am a scorpion. It is my nature.' "
"I am not a scorpion, Anastasius."
"But you are a politician!" Focht touched his eye patch. "Politics has forever been my bane. It cost me my eye, my command, and my old life. Even my being here, being your Precentor Martial, was because taking me into your service consummated an alliance between you and Theodore Kurita."
This is not an argument I wish to pursue. "Your points are well taken, Anastasius, but even I know when politics must be subsumed by reality. No speech ever stopped a particle beam. No secret deal ever defeated a 'Mech regiment, and no political deals will ever slow the Clans. Even I can see that."
"Can you? Do you really have a grasp on what it means for us to be forthright and honest in dealing with the Clans?" The Precentor Martial reached out to grab her arms, but stopped short. "The battle for Tukayyid is not to be taken lightly."
This time Myndo did not hide her anger. "You have reminded me of this at every turn, Precentor Martial. You have made your case well. Why do you doubt that I have finally seen the wisdom of what you have been suggesting all along?"
Focht started to reply, then closed his mouth and bowed his head. "Forgive me, Primus. As I am a half-blind dog, perhaps I see scorpions everywhere."
Myndo nodded sagely and brushed her left hand down his right arm. "You are my Precentor Martial because you look for scorpions. I would not want the leader of armies to be ignorant of political realities, but I do not want him consumed by them either. You are ComStar's hope and our future is in your hands."
"Your faith in the Com Guards is well founded, Primus. I take it I am given leave to find ilKhan Ulric and bargain for the battle of Tukayyid?"
"Go with the blessing of Blake."
"His Word will be done."
Myndo suppressed her smile until the door slid shut behind Focht's back. "Go, Precentor Martial. Focus their intent upon you. Win or lose on Tukayyid, while you prepare for battle, I will ensure the ultimate victory of ComStar over the Clans."
15
Fort Ian Training Center, Port Moseby
Virginia Shire, Federated Commonwealth
28 February 3052
Victor Davion looked up as a blond man flipped a holodisk onto his desk. "New test results, Galen?"
Galen Cox, Victor's aide, nodded. "We've screened all the people who came in on the last DropShip. Granted that simulators are not 'Mechs, but most of these folks are pretty damned good. Only one or two seemed to go nuts with the added power the refitted 'Mechs provided. Most played it conservative and were always running well low on heat. Out of the fifty we tested, only eleven pushed the 'Mechs to their logical maximum."
Victor leaned back in his chair and pressed his hands together, fingertip to fingertip. "Any standouts?"
Galen shrugged nonchalandy. "A few. There is one guy you're going to want to talk with. He was at the Nagelnng with you."
"Who?"
"Renny Sanderlin."
The way Galen said the name told Victor the news was not the best it could possibly be. "Renny was my roommate. What's wrong?"
Galen dropped into a chair and leaned forward. Only his eyes were visible over a stack of reports on Victor's desk. "He was marginal, Victor. Because of his rank, I gave him a lance to command. He played,every thing by the book—but the book is four years old. He and his people survived, but he was very cautious. His file says that he was' treated for combat fatigue after his first engagement with the Clans. His tentativeness is probably because of that."
Galen glanced down at the floor, then met Victor's eyes again. "Given his rank, we'd have to bump one of our own lance commanders to find a place for him."
Victor chewed his lower lip. "Renny pulled me through the last two years at the Nagelring. I owe him. How would you rate his personal performance?"
Hauptmann Cox's expression eased. "He's game, no doubt about that. I had the feeling he was afraid his people would think he would fail them. He hesitated, but then fought hard and shot pretty well when we had his lance jumped."
"Hesitation can get someone killed out there." The Prince scratched his head. "I guess I'll have a talk with him. I'll offer him a position, but it will be at the cost of rank, provided General Kaulkas approves. Murphy's lance is still shy some people, right?"
Galen nodded. "If we take the eleven I mentioned, and Sanderlin, that will bring us up to 90 percent of our authorized strength. Two more DropShips of volunteers are inbound, so I think we can find the rest of our pilots in that lot."
"Good."
Cox rose to leave, then hesitated. "Kommandant, do I file my report on Sanderlin, or do I leave it out of his dossier?"
Victor swallowed past the knot in his throat. "What have you been doing with the others?"
"I file the test evaluation."
If Renny has a negative evaluation in his file, it could hurt his career later on. Victor drew a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh. "You really think he would endanger the other warriors in a lance he commanded?"
"Some people are not cut out for field commands, especially commands in an irregular unit like this one."
Victor nodded. "File it. If you believe what you just said, you might add that to your evaluation."
"Yes, Kommandant." Galen smiled. "Do you want me to send Sanderlin in? He's waiting outside."
The Prince stood. "By all means."
Galen crossed to the door and opened it. "Leftenant Sanderlin, the Kommandant will see you now."
Renny Sanderlin turned sideways to squeeze past Galen, then drew himself up to attention and snapped a salute at Victor. "Leftenant Renard Sanderlin reporting for duty, sir."
Pride swelling in his chest, Victor returned the salute, then grabbed his friend's hand to shake it heartily. "Damn, Renny, it's been far too long."
"Not since Sudaten and planning for the assault on Twycross." The tall blond man smiled broadly. "I heard you were recruiting, so I decided to volunteer."
Galen started out the door, pulling it shut behind him, but Victor stopped him. "Galen, can you get me the figures on how our refitting is going?"
Cox nodded. "How fast?"
"Fifteen minutes. Include projections to end of this week."
"Done."
As Galen closed the door, Victor steered Renny to a chair, then returned to his desk. As he seated himself, he saw Renny was still standing. "What is it, Renny?"
"Sir, I want to be frank with you. Permission to speak freely?"
Victor nodded slowly. "Granted."
"Kommandant, I ran into some trouble in my fight with the Uhlans." Renny blushed. "I'm better now. I won't let you down."
"Thank you, Leftenant." Victor pointed him to the chair. "Because we're friends, I'll give it to you straight. Galen liked what he saw of your fighting ability. He said you were really willing to get in there and mix it up, which is good. We need people who are game and are willing to push the 'Mechs to their maximums."
"Thank you, sir."
Victor met Renny's blue-eyed gaze. "Unfortunately, your leadership skills are not suited to this type of unit. That means that, if you choose to stay with us, you'll not command a lance."
Renny looked down. "I'll lose my rank?"
"As it is right now, I've got some excellent lance commanders. I can't bump one of them just because you're an old friend." The Prince opened his hands. "And Galen thinks it will take some time for you to be at ease working within our system. I cannot give you a lance until you are ready to lead."
Renny shook his head. "You haven't changed at all, have you, sir? You hated favoritism when it was show to you at the Academy and it's the same thing here."
Victor's gray eyes narrowed. "Does that surprise you?"
The MechWarrior smiled. "No, it's just what I expected, so it's kind of a relief. If you are willing to have me in the trenches, I'll take the step down to do it. You know me and you know how to use me. More than fearing death or failure, I fear never getting the chance to try."
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