by Andrew Keith
"Y-yes, Miss ... I mean, no, Miss ..." The guardsman stepped aside and hit the control stud that opened the door beside him. His tone had shifted from condescension to stiff, military respect as he drew himself to attention and gave her a rifle salute. "I'm sorry I held you up, ma'am. Pass."
Caitlin gave him a cold smile and went through the door. She turned to the left and headed up a half-flight of stairs to the control booth that overlooked the Residence video studios. She could wait there for her father to finish his message without disrupting the broadcast itself. -
The booth was a long, narrow room overlooking the studio through a transplast window. A single bank of controls crewed by four technicians controlled all the functions of the studio, from robotic cameras and sound to computer-generated special effects. No one even looked up as Caitlin entered, and she did her best not to distract anyone from their work. Instead she craned her neck to study the studio itself.
Major de Villar was still speaking, spelling out the need for the Gray Death's officers to work closely with the Governor General to make sure that the final arrangements for the neutrality agreement went smoothly. He was reading from a teleprompter in very careful, almost stilted tones, quite unlike the animated delivery Caitlin had heard from him in a few lectures he'd given the cadets at Brander. From time to time his eyes would stray from the teleprompter and the robotic camera mounted above it to fix on something Caitlin couldn't see from her present vantage point. The look in his eyes bothered her, too. Something wasn't quite right . . .
She leaned further forward and finally saw the other occupants of the studio. First, her father, leaning forward in a chair out of camera range, watching and listening to the major with an attention he rarely gave to anything.
And then she saw the trio of guards surrounding Freya King de Villar.
The major's wife was wearing a torn nightgown and slippers. Her hair was in disarray, and her mouth was gagged. One of the guards was holding a needier pistol against the side of her neck, while another held her hands behind her back in a rigid, painful grip. The third, standing further back, cradled an autorifle that was pointed in the general direction of the major himself.
Caitlin's intake of breath was sharp, audible.
"Miss DeVries! What are you doing in here?" The director was halfway out of his chair, looking flustered. "This area is off limits ..."
"My ... my father wanted me to ... to let him know when a message came in . . ." Her stammered reply didn't sound convincing even to her. She took a step back. "Er, from the Thane of Carrick. I . . . er, I thought he was finished, but I guess he's still busy with the broadcast. I'll give it to him when he's . . . when he's free."
"He's not on the air now," the director said, frowning at her. "Here, I'll put you through on the intercom." He turned away for the instant it would take to put through a call to the tiny earpiece receiver her father would be wearing to get cues from the booth. Caitlin didn't hesitate. She was through the door and down the stairs in that instant, pushing past the corporal outside to walk briskly down the corridor away from the communications center.
It took all her self-control to keep from breaking into a run until she was out of the Guardsman's line of sight.
* * *
The tiny receiver in his left ear crackled, and Roger DeVries straightened in his chair and raised a hand involuntarily to touch the slick plastic of the device. A moment later the voice of the broadcast director, tinny and distorted, began to speak hesitantly.
"Your Excellency, your daughter was just in the booth looking for you. Er . . .she said something about a message you'd been waiting for from the Thane of Carrick. But she wouldn't wait to talk with you . . . just left all of a sudden . . ." The director sounded nervous, but whether it was because of the possible security breach he'd allowed or the idea of questioning the activities of the Governor General's daughter wasn't clear.
DeVries stood up quickly. The major had at least another minute of text to read, and that would give the governor time to deal with this matter without interrupting the broadcast.
He wasn't expecting a call from Carrick or any of the other regional lords this morning, and that lie, coupled with his daughter's sudden departure, could only mean one thing . . .
Outside the heavy, insulated studio door, DeVries pulled his personal communicator from his shirt pocket and thumbed in a code sequence. "Walthers," he said curtly. "DeVries. Order your people to locate my daughter and detain her until further notice. Accept no excuses or delays, It's vital that I talk to her. Pass the word to all posts."
He hated to think that his daughter's first loyalty might not be to her own father, but he had to assume it. She'd thought of nothing but the chance to be a Mech Warrior for years, and he knew that Carlyle's people underwent intense indoctrination from the time they started cadet training. DeVries couldn't afford to take chances now. He wasn't going to let anyone, not even his daughter, ruin things for him—or the whole future of Glengarry—now.
That was why he had to make sure she didn't so something foolish, like telling her Legion superiors what she'd seen in the studio. In a few more minutes it wouldn't matter, but until DeVries was sure he had the Legion's leadership rounded up and neutralized, Caitlin couldn't be allowed to run loose.
DeVries didn't wait for his security chief's acknowledgment. He returned the communicator to his pocket and went back into the studio, putting all thoughts of Caitlin out of his mind.
Right now, he had to focus all his attention on the task at hand. Later he'd bring his daughter around, and together they'd forge the kind of future Glengarry deserved.
* * *
Down in the Snake Pit, Alex Carlyle slumped back in his chair, feeling lost and confused. After everything Major de Villar had said about their duty to resist, how could he have changed his mind so fast? And without consulting McCall or the rest of the staff?
Now DeVries was back on the screen, every gesture and inflection conveying nothing but calm and reassurance. "Let me conclude by urging all of you, again, to remain calm and await developments. Glengarry is in no danger, I assure you, and with a little common sense on everyone's part I'm sure we can weather this disturbance with hardly a ripple. Thank you, and God bless you all."
McCall muttered something under his breath and reached past Alex to shut off the monitor. "I dinna ken what changed his mind," the Caledonian grumbled.
Before he could go on, an intercom line buzzed insistently. Alex hit the stud, and found himself looking into the bland features of one of the Legion's duty NCOs, Sergeant Yu.
"Sir, this is Checkpoint Four. I've got a dozen officers and technicians here who say their orders are to take the watch in CCR. Orders from Governor DeVries."
Major McCall leaned forward, waving Alex into silence. "This is irregular, Sergeant," he began.
A new face filled the screen. "Major, this is Captain Holmes, Planetary Guard. The Governor General and your Major de Villar are requesting that you and your staff join them in the Residence for a conference. We're supposed to keep an eye on things while you're topside." He smiled. "You know, spirit of cooperation and all that."
McCall seemed reluctant to answer, but finally nodded.
"Aye, 'tis time we sorted a' this mess oot. Pass them in, Sergeant." He nodded to one of the nearby technicians to release the elevator. It had been locked in place when the command center went on alert, and could only be activated from inside.
Holmes and his technicians arrived in moments, and formally relieved McCall of duty with instructions to take the staff up to the surface. Alex joined McCall and the other officers in the elevator for the ascent to the Residence. From the ragged conversations swirling around him it was clear that the other Gray Death officers were no more comfortable with the situation than he was. He hoped de Villar would be at the top of the shaft to meet them. Maybe he could explain what was happening.
But the major wasn't there when the doors snapped open. Instead Alex and the others
faced a whole squad of Planetary Guardsmen, clad in full combat armor instead of their accustomed tunics and kilts, and leveling automatic weapons at the Gray Death party. Behind them more armed troops were visible herding Sergeant Yu and the other Legion guards from the checkpoint into the corridor at gunpoint.
"By order of the Governor General, you are hereby under arrest," the leader of the group said harshly. "Turn over your sidearms and wrist computers immediately. Cooperate and all will be well. Make trouble, and you'll be sorry. We have thirty-two Legion dependents in custody already, and they will pay the price for any misbehavior on your part. Do I make myself clear?"
No one answered. Then, slowly, McCall stepped forward, arms raised, and the others quickly followed suit. There was nothing else any of them could do.
20
Dunkeld, Glengarry
Skye March, Federated Commonwealth
2 April 3056
Caitlin DeVries clenched her fists in sheer frustration, wishing she could take out her feelings on someone, something, before they consumed her entirely.
How could her father have even considered betraying the Legion? The very thought made her ill.
She had always known that his feelings toward the Gray Death were mixed at best. Grayson Carlyle and his mercenaries had catapulted Roger DeVries into the Governor General's office. He'd held the post for the past two years, working closely with the Legion and apparently seeing that they could do a lot of good for Glengarry.
But at the same time, he'd let slip plenty of comments that betrayed his essential dislike for the mercs. They had done much to restore order on the planet soon after their arrival, but now the relationship was more one-sided. Glengarry provided everything they needed, but gained very little in exchange. So her father maintained. And he had been reluctant to give his blessing to his daughter's decision to sign up with the unit.
It was all she had ever wanted to do with her life, and in the end he had seen that he could either yield gracefully or watch her defy him. Faced with that choice, he'd given in at last.
Now Caitlin suddenly wished she'd never even heard of the Gray Death. Or maybe it was her father she wanted to reject. Right now she wasn't sure about anything.
Caitlin's fist slammed into the wall stud that locked the door behind her. She had come back to her suite in the Governor's Wing of the Residence, not knowing where else to hide her face from the world. Every ornate piece of furniture, every elegant wall hanging reminded her of her dilemma now.
"We stand for order," she said aloud. It was the unofficial motto of the Gray Death, reputedly coined by Grayson Carlyle years before. The training program emphasized the notion that the Legion, unlike so many of the Inner Sphere's mercenary units, fought not so much for pay as for their leader's ideals of civilization standing against the barbarians at the gate. For two long years she had been hearing words like those, and she had always believed in them. The Legion . . . they were supposed to be the good guys, the new knights riding metallic steeds into battle against the people who wanted to pull civilization down.
What did that make Roger DeVries, if he was trying to negotiate a separate peace?
She swallowed and tried to get a grip on herself. Breaking down now wouldn't settle anything.
Caitlin raised her arm and punched in a code combination on the tiny keys of her wristcomp. The Gray Death's well-worn military models included the kind of personal communicators that were carried as separate pieces of equipment by the civilians in the Residence. Major McCall had to be told about her father's treachery.
There was no answer. She cursed and tried another code, Alex Carlyle's. Nothing.
The smartest way to mount a coup would be to neutralize the Legion leadership while they were still taking in de Villar's apparent support. Were they already out of action, prisoners ... or worse? That was the only explanation she could think of for not getting through.
Which meant the Legion forces here in the capital were leaderless. Maybe she could still warn some of the outlying Legion units. Brander, for instance . . .
To do that she was going to need more than a wristcomp. Maybe she could still get out of the Residence and make a call from a comm terminal in town . . .
She was halfway across the living room when movement at the bedroom door made her spin around, dropping into a fighting stance with all the instincts of a trained MechWarrior.
If she was startled, the other was even more so. He jumped back from the door, then grinned sheepishly. "Och, lassie, dinna do that! I thought you were up to no good!"
Caitlin relaxed. "Sorry, MacDonald. I didn't know anyone was here."
The servant smiled apologetically. "Just helping Maggie out with the cleaning, lass," he said. "With all the extra people in town for the ceremonies, some of us are havin' tae pull double duty."
She answered his smile despite her turmoil. Ian MacDonald and his wife Maggie were two of the most trusted servants in the Residence. They had been there for years, through four administrations, and they had helped make Caitlin feel at home in the turbulent days right after her father's appointment. MacDonald, who had put in five years as an infantryman in the private army of the Thane of Buchan before the Legion had put an end to the feuding between individual noblemen, had been the one person in the Residence who'd urged her to follow her dream of becoming a Mech Warrior. She'd known him only a few months before going out to Brander, but sometimes MacDonald had seemed more like a father than the man in the Governor General's office. At least the servant had always listened, had always offered a sympathetic ear.
She didn't know what to say to him now, though. She wasn't even sure how much MacDonald knew about the Free Skye separatists, or whether the legionnaires were allowed to talk about it with civilians. And what could she say about her father?
A loud knock rattled the door before she could find any words. "Miss DeVries!" She knew the voice. It belonged to one of the Guard sergeants assigned to the Residence security staff. "Your father wants to see you! Please come out right away."
She looked around the room, almost instinctively searching for a way out that she knew wasn't there. She couldn't see her father now ...
MacDonald recognized her fear almost before she admitted it to herself. "What's the matter, lassie?" he asked quietly. "Is something wrong between you and your father?"
Caitlin nodded, a curt, almost explosive gesture. The knock sounded again, louder this time. "Security monitors saw you going in there, Miss DeVries. Please come out, now. Your father's instructions were very clear."
Her mind was racing furiously. Father or not, what he was doing was a betrayal of the Gray Death, and she had pledged her life to serve the Legion. Once she let these soldiers escort her to her father, he would see to it that she didn't pass any warnings to Major McCall or the others. Not until it suited him. She had to get the warning to them first .. .
But how? She couldn't get to them in person, and a cadet couldn't just call up a major on the intercom and expect to get through. Not without a lot of obstacles. Besides, she wouldn't have time for that. She was running out of options.
She bit her lip. Her only hope was MacDonald.
Caitlin grabbed his arm. "Ian . . . Ian, you must do something for me. I think the Legion's in trouble, and my father doesn't want me to warn them. Go back into the bedroom and wait until I'm gone. When they've taken me, find a way to get off Castle Hill and into town. Call Brander. Major King ... no, make it Dave Clay. Cadet Dave Clay. Tell him it's important. Tell him . . ."She trailed off. How could she let Clay know the message really came from her? "Tell him it's straight from the Centurion's mouth. Major de Villar's not cooperating with my father willingly. His wife is being used as a hostage to make him agree to surrender to the separatists. And I think the rest of the Legion officers have been rounded up, or at least cut off from outside contact. Do you have that?"
MacDonald stared at her a moment, then repeated the message back to her, looking grim. "I canna believe it
," he added. "Your father . . . Look, now . . . will you be all right, lassie?"
"I'll be fine. He's still my father ... I'll be fine."
The knock was louder still as MacDonald left the living room. Outside Caitlin heard more voices. New arrivals, probably with the cardkey that would override the electronic lock.
The door slid open to admit five soldiers in the kilts and light blue tunics of the security branch of the Guard. They looked angry, and had their weapons at the ready.
"Damn it, why didn't you answer!" The sergeant had dropped all pretense of deference now. "Your father wants you in his office right away!"
"And if I don't want to go?" she asked coldly.
He shrugged. "My orders are to take you there, Miss. Please don't make things awkward." He gestured with his pistol, and two of the soldiers started forward as if to seize her.
Caitlin DeVries stepped back, holding out her hands as she nodded reluctantly. "All right. I'll come." She brushed past the guard and out of the room without a backward glance.
Now it was up to MacDonald . . . and Dave Clay.
* * *
Davis Carlyle Clay looked up as the comm terminal on the duty officer's desk chimed to announce an incoming call. He was tired from the long emelt ride back to Brander, followed immediately by a shift as Cadet OOD looking after the Brander Center duty office while King and the other senior staffers worked to carry out McCall's orders for re-equipping the cadet 'Mechs for active duty. That at least could be canceled now that Major de Villar had announced the stand-down orders. Clay had screened the 'Mech bay with the news as soon as someone had brought word of the broadcast, and King was on his way back now. Maybe Clay could get some quality sack time today, after all . . .
He hit the Accept stud. The image that appeared on the monitor was obviously transmitting from a public comm booth in one of Glengarry's larger towns. He could see buildings in the background, and there was a drone of traffic noise under the voice of the caller.
