Hunters of the Deep

by Randall N Bills

  “You would destroy Clan leaders. What more is there to know?”

  Sha took a single step toward him, the soft soles of his boots whispering on the cool tiles as he stopped again, right hand upraised slightly, as though entreating. Not Sha.

  “ovKhan, if I feel you have violated Clan law or traditions, I can call you out in a Trial of Grievance, quiaff?”

  “Aff . . . though not exactly.”

  “Ah, you see. Not so cut and dried. I can call you out by strict adherence to Clan law, but that is never really the case. Your own subordinates would call you out. And generally, you do not have a cadet calling out too far above his station, or an ovKhan too high above his own.”

  Petr nodded his head. Why were they having a discussion about something they both knew all too well?

  “Not to mention, if I do move too far above my station or too far out of my purview, in all likelihood a newly acquired subordinate will rise to challenge me and I will not survive the sheer numbers, quiaff?”

  “Aff. That is so a warrior cannot challenge his Khan for a decision he simply cannot fathom—it would bog down the Clan in pettiness.” Petr explained.

  “Exactly. So what do you do when you see that exact situation occurring? Leaders who do not lead all to glory, but sit like fat House Leaders, piling up the glories others reap.” Sha’s gaze was becoming more intent.

  “Are you discussing a hypothetical situation?”

  “Whatever way you wish to think about it. Real, hypothetical, I want an answer. If you see such injustice, but know that our traditions actually hold us to certain behaviors in this situation, what do you do?”

  “Nothing.”

  Sha lowered his hand and leaned forward slightly, as though attempting to gaze into Petr’s soul; for a moment Petr felt sure a cold breeze scratched his face and made him swallow reflexively with the inability to breathe such cold air.

  “You see an injustice you feel cannot be addressed in the standard Clan way and you do nothing?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then what about our fight? Was that the standard way?”

  Anger finally boiled to the surface. He violently shook his head and winced painfully at the jabs of fire in his shoulder and the pinpricks ignited along his skull. He closed his eyes, felt sweat spring out along his brow and quickly begin to slide down his shaven scalp to his neck.

  Wished for a drink of water as he rubbed his tongue, rough as sandpaper, along his lips (refused to ask for a glass; no weakness in front of Sha!) and spoke, slowly, with great deliberation; he could not afford to be angry right now. “I did not fire on you after you took my ’Mech’s arm. I took yours.”

  “If that is the way you wish to remember it, so be it. But I would wager you are lying to yourself. You are not the type to sit back and allow something you do not agree with to occur if you can do something about it.”

  Petr opened his mouth to voice flat denial and the sound died unborn. If he truly saw injustice, would he do nothing? Would he stand back and say it did not concern him? He hated to admit it, but Sha was right. Aff. He would do something.

  He tried to not look directly at Sha, but the man knew his thoughts. Oh, he knew, though he kept his surat face as impenetrable as ’Mech armor.

  “Why did we originally change our name to Clan Diamond Shark?”

  Petr’s head swirled with such a strange segue. “Um, what?” He hated sounding so stupid; he suddenly couldn’t seem to wrangle his thoughts. Were the meds wearing off?

  “Why did we change our original name, the name the Founder himself chose, to Clan Diamond Shark?”

  “Um, every Fox Clansman knows this history. After the hated Snow Raven Clan introduced a genetically altered shark—”

  “Those are just facts,” Sha interrupted. “Tidbits of history. Floating pieces of information which do not, cannot, convey what occurred. We changed our name for one reason and one reason only.”

  Petr began to feel like a student and hated Sha for the feeling. Nevertheless, he fought to think through the haze. Why did we change our name? He ran headlong into an endless field of giant cotton balls; nothing hurt, but at every turn something moved into his path, slowing him down, stopping forward movement. Forward thought. Finally, after what felt an eternity, he found an answer. “To survive.”

  “Exactly,” Sha said, with more passion in his voice than Petr could ever remember. “To survive, we adapted to the new situation. When so many Clans lie broken and destroyed along the path of history, Clan Sea Fox has adapted and changed. And now we among all the Clans have one of the most powerful and influential positions in the Inner Sphere.” He took another step toward Petr, once again, a look of pleading. Or almost pleading. Not in his features, but more in his posture, the slightly upraised arm again. It did not seem possible that Sha would plead. For what?

  Sha opened his mouth again but his voice came as though muffled by the endless field of cotton. “Why did we change our name back again?”

  Petr thought about this. Time began to trickle one grain of sand at a time through existence’s hourglass. Finally found what he needed, though it barely came out as a word: “Sur.” The rest lost to mumbling.

  “To survive. To adapt. So we morphed into our current Khanates and Aimags. We have always adapted, Petr. We have never shirked doing what we must. To ensure our survival, we have done what we must. Can you not see?”

  Petr found himself lying back on the bed without knowing how he got there. A soft glow smeared everything into a haze of slow-moving shapes and dulled sounds. He tried to concentrate on Sha’s words, vaguely saw the nurse talking to Sha, her voice almost strident. Gesturing. To Petr. To the door. She drugged me. The thought should have brought anger, but instead brought only warmth.

  His vision began tunneling, but he focused on Sha’s face. On his mouth, which suddenly encompassed the universe. Fingers sunk into words to keep him from his own abyss.

  “We have always done what we must to survive,” Sha continued. “We make the decisions necessary to ensure our survival, regardless of the consequences. Too many Clans have been destroyed because they could not adapt. We adapt. We survive. We must continue to adapt. Petr, we must adapt. You can aid me. What we could not accomplish. . . .

  Existence washed away.

  17

  Beta Aimag Hospice, Near Halifax

  Vanderfox, Adhafera

  Prefecture VII, The Republic

  22 July 3134

  The exercise felt good.

  Sweat poured from his body as though from an open faucet. A cleansing feeling, washing away his hurt, his frustration, his darkness; keeping unwanted words at bay. The small exercise room might as well not have existed, its only two other occupants beyond his perception; their own determination to overcome their injuries a pale candle to his own, which burned as bright as a DropShip drive plume in a moonless black night.

  Amazing what hating an enemy could do.

  Petr redoubled his efforts. Knew the witch would likely be by soon to scold him. Tell him to slow down. To pace himself. How could he? He felt as though the universe were passing him by. As though great events for his Clan, and possibly for the rest of the Inner Sphere, were in motion and he’d been sidelined. Stuck on the bench.

  He could not accept that.

  Almost twenty minutes passed; dehydration and exhaustion clawed at him. Finally, satisfied that he had pushed his body and spirit to the very edge, he relented. Stepped off the machine and stood panting, breathing in the stuffy air, breathing in the smell of his own sweat. Slowly, he became aware of another person in the room, realized dimly that she had spoken to him twice already, and he had not responded. He tried to decide what he should feel about that. Shrugged—felt only a dull echo of the pain only three days past—and walked the four steps to his water bottle—a talisman to be grasped only after a straight thirty minutes of work. Such concentration, his ability to simply push away existence in his need to be reborn, should be lauded. A warr
ior’s concentration. An ovKhan’s concentration. He nodded his head.

  “Merchant saFactor Tia. What news?” She didn’t even blink her flashing blue eyes before responding. Didn’t show any reaction at all to his new and improved look.

  Then again, she probably wore such a look during coupling. Business. Always business and everything else a distraction to ignore.

  “The negotiations proceed apace,” she began immediately. Blunt as ever. “However, Beta Aimag has made considerable headway, matching our bid point for point. Their interference has dragged out the negotiations interminably, with no end in sight.”

  “How did this happen? We began negotiations many days before Beta Aimag even arrived. How did they catch up so quickly?”

  “Their saFactor is . . . gifted.”

  Though her face didn’t change, Petr understood that to be the highest compliment she’d pay to any other merchant; he’d not drag anything further out of her, even with an assault ’Mech.

  “What concessions do we need to make to secure the contract?”

  “These merchants are devious. They are playing both ends of the jump drive. Though such a game could lead to an explosive decompression in any other situation, they have recognized the mutual animosity of our Aimags. They believe one side or the other will reach for this contract, regardless of the ludicrous concessions they demand.”

  Petr stretched his neck carefully, felt the pull of skin healing quickly. Petr had never paid much attention to the medical accomplishments of the scientist caste. Of course, he knew they could grow new limbs from buds and regrow skin. Still, he found it amazing how quickly they could heal skin if the patient didn’t mind scars, terrible scars. He felt new respect for their expertise and advancements. For his rapid recovery, though he believed his will (and hate) contributed greatly to his speedy recovery.

  “A stiff-necked Falconer could not fail to see our . . . animosity. You did not answer my question. You are my saFactor, Tia. Are you failing me?” He considered what else to say, but knew there were no chinks in her armor that words could penetrate. Someday, he hoped to learn how she achieved such imperviousness.

  “Neg, ovKhan. I only fail when I do not use all the skills at my disposal. I believe the concessions they ask will make this entire venture cost more than we are willing to pay.”

  Petr laughed out loud, the sharp bark almost a hammer blow in the small room. “Tia, this venture has already proved more costly than it could possibly be worth.”

  “Aff, ovKhan. This I understand. Nevertheless, I cannot advise you to take any offer other than to concede to Beta Aimag. Regardless of the short-term honor such a victory will gain for Beta, in the long run it will be a drain they cannot sustain. An embarrassment we can capitalize upon, if not steal outright.”

  “But what of our Aimag’s honor now? We did not even place in the top two slots of the Trial of Bloodright. We lost the Rituals of Combat. How can I simply concede the final point without a fight? Can I allow such a blow?”

  “Aff. Our warriors, our Aimag will survive. Has always survived. We do what we must.”

  Her words were limned in fire. Stood out like an afterimage of a particle projector cannon beam seen with the naked eye. That her words mirrored Sha’s so closely shook him. Disturbed him more than he wanted to admit.

  He had worked hard to ignore the specifics of his conversation with Sha. Tried to ignore his own reactions (betrayals) to Sha’s words. If he was honest with himself, those words were another reason for his passionate exercises: the physical exertion allowed him to trap Sha’s words in a region of his mind he did not have to face.

  He must take slow steps. Once step at a time.

  He raised the water bottle and drank deeply. Shook his thoughts away like a dog sloughing off water. Concentrated once more on the current situation.

  “Aff. I know we will survive. But I do not like to admit this defeat by Beta Aimag. There has to be another way.”

  After a few heartbeats, she said, “Perhaps there is.”

  He looked at Tia. “Speak.”

  “Stewart.”

  “Ah,” he responded. Like a contrail, the possibilities unfolded. Long minutes stretched as he gazed at it from several angles.

  Of a sudden, Snow came to mind. He realized with a jolt many days had passed since he’d even thought of the repugnant (strangely attractive?) spheroid. The mention of Stewart brought to mind her allegations of a possible invasion by the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth. Then again, he’d been busy, he thought wryly. Invasion or not, Stewart could not be handed off like that.

  “No, Tia. We must find some other way. We know Stewart is the biggest prize in this entire region—a fact I cannot believe Beta has not yet discovered.” He nodded, giving Tia her due on that point.

  “I agree, ovKhan. But distracting Beta Aimag by offering them Stewart is the only option we currently have.”

  He thought another moment. Felt Sha’s words tickling his mind, trying to surge back to the fore.

  Could he really have meant what he implied? “We do what we must.” Any Clansman, including a Fox Clansman, using such words could mean anything. Could mean they would go to any lengths necessary. And despite Sha’s vagueness, Petr knew the rival ovKhan could only be talking about one person.

  Khan Hawker.

  Could he really mean to move against the ilKhanate and Mori Hawker? A chill wind, as though from Sha’s frigid eyes, swept down his skin, wrenching up goose bumps. Neg, not even Sha could be so reckless. But eyes of ice burned through his memories to stab holes in these feeble denials.

  Aff, he just might.

  He realized several minutes had passed. Tia stood waiting, patiently—though she must wonder if his injuries had rattled his mind.

  “Tia, delay any resolution to the negotiations. The one thing we have remaining in our favor is time. Delay for weeks if that is what it takes.” Her face showed she was unhappy with his decision, but she accepted his order without complaint. Petr could use more subordinates like her, regardless of her bluntness.

  “Aff, my ovKhan. It shall be as you say.” She departed, leaving him alone. No, not alone. He could not seem to escape his thoughts. Sha’s words. Petr felt at a loss for how to move forward. This simply went beyond him.

  How to proceed?

  Moving into his stretching—he refused to do it the first time and regretted it terribly the next morning—his mind continued to follow multiple jump paths. Continued to seek a way forward.

  SaKhan Sennet should be at Tania Borealis at this point.

  The thought blossomed into his mind as though placed there. He stood up suddenly, heedless of the dizziness that washed over him at the abrupt motion.

  SaKhan Sennet. Yes, he would aid him. He would know how to proceed.

  18

  Near Beta Aimag Encampment, Halifax

  Vanderfox, Adhafera

  Prefecture VII, The Republic

  30 July 3134

  The rain shielded Snow better than any camouflage. Of course, the driving sheets of water also made it difficult to see. Not to mention uncomfortable, as it plastered her clothing, molding it to her skin, making her uncomfortably aware of her stocky body. She had ample assets (plenty of men said as much), but they were hidden behind a body that refused to yield to slimness, no matter how fanatic her workout regime. For years she dealt with the disappointment of her unattractiveness through work, achieving a level of success that forced her superiors to recognize her prowess, even as they averted their eyes. Her success allowed her to reach a détente with her own body. Then someone would remind her in the most brutal way possible, and a few too many years of swallowing askance looks and quirked lips would rise like the undead, creating not a hot rage, but a cold fury to scour away mountains and souls.

  Or at least to scour away the bastard she stalked.

  A particularly strong gust of wind threw a wall of warm water into her face. Most rainstorms she had experienced were cold, and one part of her mi
nd kept wondering why she was taking a shower with her clothes on.

  She smiled coldly. Strange the demons we carry. And the demons we must exorcise. Of course, all for duty. All for duty. She tucked away a threatening chuckle for later use.

  Coming to the end of the street, she backed up against the wall and did a quick take around the corner as her target passed. Only a handful of people were out this late on an ordinary night; the savage storm kept most reasonable people indoors tonight. However, her target stopped a half dozen paces ahead, apparently deep in conversation with someone she couldn’t recognize; the strength of the storm didn’t even allow her to identify clothing.

  She leaned back. Felt the rough-cut stone press firmly into her back, as runnels of water poured down her neck. Made her shoulder ache slightly, though she was sure it was mostly mended at this point. She began to systematically loosen her muscles, knowing combat loomed.

  Though it should be pretty minimal, considering.

  Her mind, at that moment, chose to replay this evening’s scene. The evening’s . . . embarrassment. She hated reliving the pain, yet like a tongue that probes a sore tooth, she couldn’t help but worry the wound. Pick the scab.

  Anyone got salt?

  “Hey, big guy, haven’t seen your type around here before,” Snow said as she sidled up to the end of the bar next to the Elemental. Corin. Such a nice name to match such a nice body.

  The giant slowly raised the fusionnaire to his lips, tossed off the dregs and placed the glass back on the table; he did so with a delicateness she found fascinating. It surprised her such a beast of a man could contain “delicateness.” She wondered if those hands were as delicate in other activities.

  A vision of endless flesh sparked and warmth blossomed.

  The bartender arrived. “Give me vodka, straight up”—she glanced sidewise at her companion—“and my friend here another of whatever he’s having.” She tossed a five-stone on the bar and swiveled back to Corin. She’d not taken a seat yet, waiting to see how the conversation might unfold.