"Most of those people will be evacuated from the world," Focht said. "As we bring our troops onto the world, the DropShips will take people away. The only civilian personnel left on the planet will be those essential to running factories that cannot be shut down. We will take all potentially hazardous industries offline, and we are prepared to designate some religious communities as non-combat zones, if you agree. In addition, ComStar accepts half the costs of damage repair if the Clans will agree to cover the other half."
"ComStar bears the cost of evacuation and repatriation?"
Focht nodded. "If you take the world, we will repatriate the population back onto Tukayyid, or onto any other world you or they choose. We will consider the people your subjects for this purpose, so you have first choice on where they end up."
"Acceptable," Ulric said, but his smile made Focht's hackles rise. "No reason to clutter the chessboard with impotent pieces, quiaff, Anastasius?"
In an instant Focht's mind flashed to the image of a chessboard. He saw the Primus as his queen and Natasha Kerensky taking up her position beside Ulric. It was not a comforting thought. Strangely, what worried him was not what Natasha would do to oppose him, but what the Primus would do to aid him.
"I would liken it to clearing a sports field of fans before a match. You know as well as I that characterizing our battle as a chess game devalues the lives of the men and women who will die on Tukayyid."
Ulric held up his hands. "Far be it from me to do that, Anastasius. But you must admit that our preparations resemble those that precede a chess match. I have conceded to you the choice of battlefield, allowing you the choice of color, as it were. Now we both must decide who should spot whom pieces, what are their value, and how we can exploit that advantage over our enemy."
Ulric's expression deadened. "I, after all, value a force more than some politico who might throw away a crack unit like a rook sacrificed in a gambit."
Focht felt suddenly as if someone were walking on his grave. Oh, you play this game well, Ulric. Have you pierced the secret of my identity? Was it Phelan who did it for you and is that why he is not here?
"I would expect that of you, ilKhan, because you are a military man of great insight. Still, that does not mean you would not expend a force in a suicidal maneuver if you deemed the gain worth the risk."
"The point is well-taken, Precentor Martial." Ulric again stroked his goatee, seeming more at ease than Focht would have desired. "And so, then, what force will you use to defend this planet?"
Focht touched one of the icons below the image of Tukayyid. It opened yet another window and this one remained black within the neon green border defining it. The Precentor Martial then reached up to a world firmly in the Wolf Clan Occupation Zone. "From Rasalhague I bring the 278th Division, under the command of Precentor IV Byron Koselka." As the Rasalhague window opened, Focht plucked from it the icon representing that Com Guard unit and threw it down toward Tukayyid.
It streaked like a comet through the artificial universe, then appeared in the empty window. Another icon followed it and another as Focht stripped all the troops from Com-Star's Asta Theatre. From there he worked into the Federated Commonwealth and pulled troops from the Jade Falcon Occupation Zone. Continuing counterclockwise, the Precentor Martial sent every Com Guard Division spiraling in toward Tukayyid.
When he had finished, he studied the seventy-two unit designators he had consigned to Tukayyid. "The data I have given you details the units selected, giving you a breakdown of their histories and the records of the men who make them up."
"Save your own record, Precentor Martial?"
Focht's head came up at the ilKhan's question. "The reason I provide you the records for my men is because our units have seen no real combat, yet to treat them as green troops would be a mistake. In the interest of clarity, I will provide you the record of my service since becoming the Precentor Martial. For you to infer anything from my earlier career would be a mistake."
"Would it?" Ulric turned away and slowly walked around to the other side of the Tukayyid windows. "Can an old soldier learn new strategies?"
"Is a caterpillar a butterfly? I chose the name Anastasius Focht for a most specific reason. I am not the man I once was. Deprived of an eye, I see more clearly now than ever before." Focht clasped his hands at the small of his back. "We will be defending Tukayyid with approximately fifty BattleMech regiments and appropriate air, artillery, armor, and infantry support. We have chosen not to use naval units because Tukayyid's surface water is limited and naval engagements would unnecessarily endanger the underwater city in the Crucible Sea."
Ulric appeared momentarily stunned by the declaration of ComStar's strength. "Fifty regiments?"
Focht nodded solemnly. "That is everything ComStar has, save the two 'Mech divisions on Terra itself. The Primus was disinclined to have her bodyguard units sent away."
"Then we are not fighting only for Tukayyid. Tukayyid is your proxy world for the Terran battle."
Did you expect some preliminary conflict for me to test you first? "Yes, ilKhan, it is our proxy battle. We have no more desire to fight on Terra than you do.
"If you take Tukayyid, in addition to caring for the population of the planet, we will cede to you Terra and all our facilities in your Occupation Zones. We will continue to administer your worlds for you and our revenues will become yours. If so ordered, we will cease all services for the Successor States. We will order our staffs to become integrated with your forces and, in effect, we will become part of the Clans—if you will have us."
Ulric began to pace and Focht was not sure how to read the man. Ulric had tightened down from his normally imperturbable self into an introspective cocoon. Focht almost heard the synapses going oft in the ilKhan's brain, but he held no illusions about the ilKhan cracking under the pressure of the ComStar bid to defend Terra.
It was obvious, though, that making Tukayyid a proxy surprised and now troubled the ilKhan. Focht would not have thought it possible to take the man unaware. Perhaps his knowledge of my background led him to expect something else from me. The Precentor Martial watched the ilKhan closely, but Ulric's face gave no clue to his thoughts.
Then Ulric stopped his pacing and stared at Focht through the Tukayyid combat window. "If you win, you will want something in return."
Focht nodded slowly. "The Primus has instructed me to demand that your Clans withdraw from the Inner Sphere when we defeat you."
He expected a harsh bark of laughter in response to that demand, but instead Ulric paused to consider it seriously. "That, I am afraid, is impossible, Anastasius, as you well know. Were I to agree to that condition, the Grand Council would impeach me and repudiate the agreement. We will not withdraw."
The Precentor Martial accepted the answer without protest. "As I expected." With one finger, he drew a pulsing red line paralleling the floor that went through Tukayyid. "If you will not withdraw, grant me that you and your forces will never pass this line. Let Tukayyid forever mark the closest point the Clans ever came to Terra."
Ulric pressed his hands together in an attitude of prayer. "Forever is a very long time, my friend. It is far longer than I or anyone I know will be able to make the Clans respect this bargain. Still, I can accept drawing a line of truce at Tukayyid, and I can grant you a year's armistice, as when we broke off our advance to elect a new ilKhan."
The Precentor Martial shook his head. "A year you no doubt see as generous."
"It has allowed your forces to equip and train themselves to better oppose us. Imagine the strides you would make with another year's worth of breathing room."
"Imagine the strides we would make given a century of peace."
"A century? I could sell the Grand Council the idea of forever sooner than I could a century. Five years."
"An eyeblink, Ulric. Five years is nothing to us. Sixty years—the career-span of our finest military leaders. Give me sixty years."
The ilKhan smiled in spite of himself. "Sixt
y years? We are mayflies compared to you. Sixty years is twelve generations of our warriors. I will be long dead and forgotten by the time war is again joined. Ten years at the most."
"To us tortoises, ten years is nothing. Ten years is not enough time to season a good warrior, much less train cadres to oppose you. Thirty years, then. Let the warriors who have fought you return to their homes to raise a new generation of warriors to meet the finest you have to offer."
Ulric hesitated as if reluctant to counter-bid. "I am afraid, my friend, thirty years is too much. I can grant you fifteen, and make that a solid bid. Unless you kill me on Tukayyid, I believe I can remain ilKhan long enough to guarantee that bargain. Beyond fifteen years, I will not be able to exert the influence necessary to bind the Clans by this agreement."
Focht adjusted the patch over his right eye. I have pushed you to the wall, haven't I? "Fifteen years I can accept. You have, after all, ceded the choice of battlefield to me."
"That is true." The Wolf Clan Khan scanned the Tukayyid data again. "What is the time-frame for this fight?"
"The start of May?"
"That is within operational possibilities. When the Clans have chosen the units that will assault Tukayyid, I will relay that information to you."
Focht extended his hand through the image of Tukayyid. "Bargained well and done, ilKhan."
Ulric smiled at his statement. "You have learned much during your time with us. Do you think you have learned enough?"
"Enough to know the answer to that question lies on Tukayyid."
24
ComStar First Circuit Compound, Hilton Head Island
North America, Terra
8 April 3052
Primus Myndo Waterly glanced over at the slender form of the Precentor from Dieron as the computer-projection of the Precentor Martial's report dissolved. "So, Sharilar Mori, what do you think?"
"I am pleased and honored that you show me this briefing before presenting it to the First Circuit," Sharilar said, but her face betrayed no emotion. "But I am a bit puzzled about why you have singled me out for this honor."
"Why puzzled?" Myndo smiled beatifically, seeking to project an image of serenity and wisdom. "Have you forgotten that I was your predecessor as Precentor Dieron and that I personally chose you as my replacement when I became Primus?"
"No, Primus, I have not forgotten, but I would not be human if I did not wonder at my good fortune." Sharilar looked down at the inlaid wooden floor of the Primus' private chambers. "I would like to think I have been of use during my time as Precentor Dieron."
"That you have, Sharilar, and you shall be of more service in the future." The Primus sat down in a chair and patted the arm of the one next to her. "Please, sit. I have something of great importance to share with you."
Sharilar moved with her usual grace, but Myndo sensed her nervousness. Good. Were she not excited by my approach to this situation, she would be utterly unsuited to doing what I need. "Precentor Dieron, what do you think of the bargain the Precentor Martial has struck with the Clans?"
Sharilar sucked on her lower lip for a moment before answering. "I would have wished for a longer cessation of hostilities, but I believe him when he says fifteen years is the best he could work out. In that time, I imagine the Federated Suns and the Combine will have stockpiled sufficient forces to maintain that line when the fighting begins again."
Myndo rested a hand on Sharilar's forearm and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I concur fully with your thoughts. Now, if you were to project your thoughts fifteen years in the future—say you were the Primus—what would you imagine is ComStar's chance of survival?"
Myndo took secret pleasure in Sharilar's twitch when she suggested the younger woman might become the Primus.
"Primus, that is a difficult task. If we defeat the Clans, they will surely order us off their worlds. All that we have accomplished over the last two years will be wasted. If the Draconis Combine and Federated Commonwealth are unable to stop the Clans, Terra will fall to them. I would guess our chances of survival are bleak if we cannot unite the Successor States to help us hold off the Clans."
The Primus leaned back in her chair. "And given the current attitude of Hanse Davion, what think you of our chances of uniting the Inner Sphere?"
"Very slender, Primus."
"Correct. In short, the Precentor Martial has bought us fifteen years at the best. If the Clans defeat him on Tukayyid, ComStar and Blessed Blake's dream die immediately."
Sharilar frowned heavily. "But the Precentor Martial sounded so confident. He said he had the key to defeating the Clans. Can he lose?"
Myndo snorted derisively. "Sharilar, you must learn to see the reality of the world. The Precentor Martial sees conflicts in the terms of a big wargame—a game of chess. To him, all can be decided on that game board, and nothing in the outside universe will affect that outcome. As far as he is concerned, the battle for Tukayyid will decide everything, then he and ilKhan Ulric will walk away friends."
"Are you not being a bit harsh with him?"
The Primus flicked her long white hair back with a casual gesture. "Not so, Precentor Dieron. Think of it this way: the
Precentor Martial is an old soldier and this will be the greatest battle of his career. Win or lose, his usefulness is at an end. He will never again know the challenge or glory of any war to surpass this one. His dreams will have been fulfilled, while ours must continue. He seeks to protect ComStar while we—you and I—must remain true to Blake's dream of reforming mankind."
Leaning forward in her chair, the older woman dropped her voice into a low, conspiratorial whisper. "A warrant for ComStar's death has been signed. We cannot allow this to happen."
Sharilar nodded woodenly as if the serious import of the Primus' words were slowly overwhelming her. "Jerome Blake's dream must not perish. That would be a betrayal of mankind."
"Exactly. While the Precentor Martial is putting forth his most valiant effort to shatter the Clans, we must look beyond his actions and ensure the ultimate victory of ComStar and Blake."
Sharilar stared at the Primus. "But how can we accomplish this? What can we do?"
The Primus smiled. "Computer, display the objective's list from Operation Scorpion."
The computer complied instantly. Where the Precentor Martial's face had formerly hung in the air, a list of glowing words came to life. Myndo scanned the list again, reveling in narcissistic glory, then smiled as Sharilar stared at the list with her mouth agape.
"Yes, Sharilar, it is a plan audacious in its concept, yet simple in execution. Phase one: stage revolts on all the Clan worlds we hold, trapping the garrisons and liberating the worlds in the name of ComStar. That will bring ComStar the glory of being mankind's savior."
"I see the wisdom of that, Primus, but phase two? Will not shutting down all our facilities in the Successor States sow panic and confusion among those we need as our allies?"
The Primus narrowed her dark eyes. "I want panic in the Successor States. It is the incredible arrogance of Hanse Davion, Theodore Kurita, and Thomas Marik that allows them to believe they can ignore us. Each was asked for support in our defense of Terra, but all we got were empty promises. They believed us useless and I mean to prove we can still hurt them. An interdiction that extends to the whole of the Successor States will yank their choke-chains and remind them how truly vital we are if they ever hope to oppose the Clans.
"Then, as we did with the Federated Suns twenty-three years ago, we will lift the sanctions in return for concessions. We will force them to use us as the Clans have on their occupied worlds. In fact, when communications are opened between capitals and outlying worlds, they will find that situation already exists, de facto, so they will have no choice but to accept."
Sharilar shuddered slightly at the words. "The Precentor Martial and the First Circuit will object to this plan."
"Which is why they will not know of it." Myndo saw realization dawn on Sharilar's face. "That is correct, Precentor Di
eron. I have come to you with this plan because you successfully negotiated my short-lived alliance with Theodore Kurita. I know you are subtle and able to work outside normal channels. I need to cut the First Circuit out of our planning here, and I know I can trust you. You must get the messages out quickly to all of our Precentors and demi-Precentors so they can prepare. Operation Scorpion will go off at the same time as the Precentor Martial's battle with the Clans."
Myndo smiled like a conqueror. "When the Precentor Martial defeats the Clans, ilKhan Ulric will learn his troops are trapped deep behind enemy lines. The Clans will be forced to retreat and leave us alone forever."
The Primus saw an unholy gleam in Sharilar Mori's eyes. "It shall be as you say, Primus. I am curious, though, about your choice of name for this plan. Why scorpion?"
"It is because of an old folk tale, Sharilar." Myndo smiled coldly. "The story of an old blind dog and the arachnid that enlightened him about reality."
25
DropShip Barbarossa, Transit Orbit, Port Moseby
Virginia Shire, Federated Commonwealth
9 April 3052
Victor Davion felt a leaden net tighten around his heart and start to drag it down. "Morgan, you must be joking!"
The tall Marshal of the Federated Commonwealth shot his cousin a surprised glance. "As you must be joking about this proposed plan, I suppose? You asked me to come here to evaluate this?" Morgan held up a holodisk as if it were a piece of trash. "I've seen more intelligent plans suggested as wargame scenarios among the criminally insane."
Victor's face flushed. "Morgan, we worked hard on that plan. My people have trained hard on this. Our morale is higher than it's ever been and we're getting full cooperation from the Combine. General Kaulkas even approved the plan."
Morgan Hasek-Davion contemptuously flipped the holodisk onto his desk. "Just because you fooled her, do not expect to fool me. Were this a script from an Immortal Warrior holovid, I might just barely begin to see how it made sense. In those potboilers, the hero can wipe out whole units on his own. But since when have you or your troops been taking super-warrior lessons? The only thing this will get us is two Princes trapped on Teniente."
Lost destiny Page 20
