Natural Selection

by Michael A. Stackpole

  "Solahma?" Victor looked confused.

  "I should explain. Solahma is a designation the Clan gives to units made up of warriors who are beyond the age for regular units or who have disgraced themselves. More often than not the solahma spend their time hunting bandits. They are BattleMech units—at least this one is— where an old warrior can hope for an honorable death and where disgraced warriors may try to redeem their honor." The Khan shrugged. "This one is a Wolf Clan unit. They will get the job done."

  "Why are the Wolves hunting the bandits down? I thought you said it was a job for the Jade Falcons because the Red Corsair operates out of their space."

  "The Jade Falcons are really a bit prissy and decidedly reactionary. They cling to the very old ways, which explains much of their impotence. They will abide by the ilKhan's bargain with ComStar, but they are not pleased with it. They have decided that the bandits actually originated somewhere in the Wolf zone, so it is our problem. They are making the ilKhan force our Clan to waste fuel, munitions, and personnel trying to get these guys."

  The Prince smiled. "I understand his predicament. All messes are to be cleaned up by someone else."

  "Exactly."

  "So this unit, is it sharp?"

  Phelan hesitated as he recalled who led it. "Star Colonel Conal Ward is in charge. He is good."

  "He's a Ward." Victor nodded with satisfaction. "We have that going for us."

  "True enough, Victor." I do not think the fact that Conal sees me as responsible for his disgrace bears mentioning here. "The ilKhan is keenly aware of Conal's abiding hatred for bandits. Conal wanted the assignment desperately, so much so that he bid away his air wing to get it. He will do the job well."

  Victor offered Phelan his hand. "I wish you all the best, cousin."

  "Likewise." Phelan shook his hand heartily. "How much longer have you here?"

  "A week, then I'm bound for Port Moseby to meet up with the Revenants again."

  Knowing that Omi would not be departing for another four days brought a smile to Phelan's face. "Enjoy your time here, then."

  "I will."

  Phelan embraced each of his parents and Caitlin again, then summoned his entourage and headed down the loading arm to the K-l Class DropShuttle that had brought them to Arc-Royal. As Carew headed up into the cockpit, the other four passengers went to their cabins and strapped themselves into their seats. The hatch closed and the ship lifted off from the spaceport facility.

  As it accelerated up into the sky , Ranna turned off the interior cabin lights. Slipping his hand into hers, Phelan leaned over to look out the window beside her. As the spacecraft picked up speed and soared into the air, the tiny lights of Old Connaught outlined the sleeping city.

  He shivered.

  "What is it, Phelan?"

  He forced a smile onto his face. "The last time I saw that view of Old Connaught was when I left to chase pirates in the Periphery. Stars have fused a lot of hydrogen atoms since then."

  She stroked his dark hair. "You became a bondsman, then a warrior, won your Bloodname, and became a Khan. Yes, many things have changed, yet I do not think you have changed that much."

  Phelan sat back in his seat. "What do you mean? I have changed a lot since I left Arc-Royal."

  Ranna squeezed his hand. "You have, in that you have grown from a youth to an adult, but the change of venue did not alter the path destiny had chosen for you. If we Clans had never come, or if we had never made you a bondsman, you would still have become the man you are today. You see something you want, a goal you want to attain, and you let nothing stand in your way. You have drive and ambition."

  She pressed her free hand against the viewport glass. "Down there, spending time with your parents and your family and your friends, I saw them through your eyes. Some always thought you contrary and contentious, but the perceptive ones knew you did not suffer fools or insults. This I have seen many times for myself. Experiencing the environment that produced you, I more fully understand why you have the gifts you now share with the Wolf Clan."

  "Had I remained in the Inner Sphere, I would be, at best, a captain in charge of a scout lance in the Second Regiment of the Kell Hounds. That's not saying much for ambition."

  "You sell yourself short." Ranna raised his hand to her mouth and kissed it. "I saw the light in your eyes as you forced Kai Allard-Liao to talk about his career on Solaris. You could have ended up there, and if that skirmish was a true indication of your respective skills, you and Kai would be arch-rivals for the title of champion."

  Phelan nodded thoughtfully. "Champion of Solaris, that would not be bad."

  "No, but I do not think you would have stopped there."

  He looked over and arched an eyebrow at her. "Oh?"

  "Your cousin Victor would have found a use for you."

  "Never. We hated each other."

  "Oh, I think you would have been brought together." She smiled impishly. "Katrina would no doubt have found a way to make you two reconcile. You, as heir to the title of Baron of Arc-Royal, would have your uses. Victor might not have seen them, but Katrina would have. She would have convinced him that his cousin, the young, brash Champion of Solaris, would be a wonderful candidate for the Estates General from the Donegal March. You would have been put into a position where your ambition could have worked to counter that of Ryan Steiner."

  As she spoke, Phelan filled in the gaps in her hypothesis. Ranna plots without knowing that my family has long been involved in Heimdall, a secret organization that works to provide stability for the legal government, and operates as loyal opposition when the government oversteps its bounds. What she suggests could have worked very well if the universe could be rolled back and events allowed to unfold differently.

  "But then, my love, we would never have met." Phelan kissed her hand. "Despite the power and position you give me in your scenario, I would not trade you for it."

  She gave him a smile that told him he had been anticipated. "That I know as well, Khan Phelan Patrick Kell Ward of the Wolves. When I saw how much your parents love each other, what we have does not surprise me. In my scenario you would have been married off to one of Kai's sisters, I think, but my reality is her significant loss."

  He laughed. "You have managed, in six days, to become quite conversant in Inner Sphere politics and the squabbling of the aristocracy."

  "I did so out of self-defense. Though I think I like Katrina, she is most adept at interrogation at once subtle, polite, and thorough." Ranna shook her head. "I answered some of her questions, got her to answer some of mine, but mostly helped her get your sister, Captain Moran, and others to talk about themselves. I have no doubt she catalogued far more information than I did, but I know I gave her less than she wanted and much less than she actually thinks she knows."

  "Katrina is something. Victor is lucky to have her working with him instead of against him." Phelan's eyes narrowed. "So, despite all that, what did you think of my home?"

  "It is a wonderful place, magical even." She smiled, her eyes bright. "I know the Kell Hounds are a military unit, but I see that they make room for so much more than we do. The garden, for example, is a place where the Kell Hound history lives. As your father said, destruction is much easier than creation. I know now, more than ever, why the Inner Sphere was able to oppose us as strongly as it did."

  "Good, I am happy you liked it."

  "Like it, I did." She turned his face to hers and kissed him on the lips. "My love, I want you to know that if ever you should decide to return to the Kell Hounds, you would not have to travel alone."

  BOOK II

  The Worst of Times

  14

  Tharkad

  Federated Commonwealth

  19 April 3055

  Karl Kole, as the assassin had named himself on Tharkad, whistled softly as he strolled through Luvon Park. Passing the skating rink, where the happy laughter of children drowned out his tune, he ducked his chin into his scarf, more to keep out the winter cold th
an to hide his identity.

  Karl Kole had no reason to hide. Karl Kole was no more remarkable than any other person who had come to Tharkad and found work at the Freya Florist Service. In fact, as Karl was rather vain, he often identified himself as a botanist instead of a florist. In reality he was nothing more than an assistant whose employer kept him on because of his strong back and ready smile and not because he ever intended to let Karl work with real flower arrangements.

  Snow crunched beneath his boots as he continued his constitutional through the park. Most of the activity there was gathered around the rink and the small concession stand, but stippled tracks across broad expanses of snow also marked the passage of men and beasts. Though most people used the webwork of plowed walkways, some intrepid souls had braved the meter-tall drifts. Ahead of him two children were lying on their backs, working arms and legs up and down to leave angel-impressions in the snow.

  Had he truly been Karl Kole, the cold would have made him return to the hoverbus stop and continue on home.

  Because he was in reality an assassin, he did not have that luxury. Casually scanning the park he decided that no one would notice his slightly eccentric behavior. Just because Karl worked in an unheated warehouse didn't mean he could not appreciate the beauty of winter.

  The morning's news packet on the computer had contained the appropriate advertisement in the Lost and Found section, and that had prompted his trip to the park. "Lost: Alsatian bitch answering to the name Lita. Two years old. Reward offered." He saw it, and though the message was not inventively worded, it contained the key phrases that told him more information would be waiting in one of his dead-drops.

  His walk took him out toward the small gardener's kiosk near the edge of the woods that formed the park's eastern border. It had been shut up for the winter, and aside from one set of tracks leading to it from the walkway, the previous night's snowstorm had left the spot undisturbed. Karl Kole would have passed it without so much as a glance.

  The assassin stepped over the snowdrift and walked around to the back of the small brick building. He dropped to his haunches and pulled a brick loose from the mortar down around the foundation, where the wind had whipped away the snow as it came around the corner. Behind the brick he found a small slip of paper, which he withdrew, then carefully slid the brick back into place.

  The paper had been crumpled and dirtied to make it look like a mere scrap that had been discarded long ago. A jagged tear line snowed where the upper left corner had been pulled off, carrying with it half the message. All that was left were two lines:

  36-4

  A7-22-7-K1H.

  He memorized it, then tossed the paper into a waste receptacle.

  Despite the inner urgency he felt, he strolled back through the park at the same leisurely pace as before. Haste makes waste, he reminded himself. And in his case, it would be him who got wasted, an outcome of this enterprise that he wanted to avoid at all costs.

  Approaching the computerized city directory, he walked past at first, then stopped and turned back as if he had forgotten something. He stared off into space for a moment, then selected item thirty-six from the main menu. That brought up a screen showing the bus, train, aero, and space depots in the city. The fourth item on that menu was the Frederick Steiner Memorial train station.

  Using his hoverbus transfer the assassin reached the Frederick Steiner station within an hour of having picked up the note. He passed through the vast lobby, pausing only once to let Karl admire the high, vaulted ceilings and the statuary mounted around the top of the walls. Heading through a small doorway, he veered off from the crowd moving down the escalator to the trains, and wandered back to the storage lockers.

  He located locker A7 and punched in the combination 22-7-K1H. The little LED display above the keypad told him that he still owed 1.45 Kroner in storage charges. He pulled the coins from his pocket and fed in one Melissa, a Victor, and two Twycross Memorial coins. The display flashed the word "Open" in red, and he complied with the instruction.

  Inside, as he expected, he found a small envelope containing a computer disk. That much he could tell by the feel. He tucked it into the inside breast pocket of his jacket, then headed back out into the cold.

  Even though he could afford a taxi—for what he would make on this job, he could afford to buy every taxi on Tharkad—he waited for the hoverbus. It was already dark by the time he descended at the stop near his home to purchase a pound of coffee and a frozen dinner at a corner market. As was Karl's custom, he and the storeowner discussed the fate of Tharkad's Curling Team, then he left after agreeing to a five-Kroner bet.

  Upon reaching his apartment, he put the frozen dinner in the microwave and started coffee brewing. Only then did he sit down with the envelope, slitting it open with a thumbnail and putting the disk into his computer. He flicked the machine on, and it booted from the new disk.

  An interrogation box came up on the screen with a question mark and a flashing cursor. He typed in the name of the dog for which the reward had been offered, then double-checked the spelling before hitting the Enter key because an error would erase the key disk by writing a zero to every location on it. There was no recovery and no forgiveness for that sort of mistake.

  The machine accepted his input and he returned to the kitchen. While he finished preparations for his dinner, the computer fed data from the boot program to another program that lurked invisibly on the computer's hard disk. That program, in turn, went out into the public-access system and downloaded the periodicals the smaller disk had instructed it to find.

  It discarded half of them immediately. The rest it scanned, choosing certain words from appropriate pages and paragraphs. When all the words had been chosen, the computer discarded the rest of the magazines. A separate section of the hidden program took input from the key program, and scrambled the chosen words. Having organized them, it presented them to the screen with a beep.

  The assassin returned to the computer and looked at the message being displayed. Because the first word was five letters long, he ignored everything but the fifth word along in the message. Because that word was seven letters long, he looked for the seventh word following it. Because that word had a circumflex over the fourth letter, he looked up at the previous line and counted back four words from the end.

  Slowly and laboriously he put together the true message. Once he had it, he punched a button on the computer that erased the key disk and blanked the message. The computer ejected the disk and the assassin snapped it in half before tossing it into the trash compactor.

  He ran the message over in his mind. Two months until he was to hit his target. The manner of her death was left to his discretion, and collateral casualties were acceptable. He smiled because the method he had first selected would work perfectly, especially in the crowded place where he would have to take her.

  The microwave dinged and Karl Kole smiled. The assassin inside him smiled as well.

  In two months both Karl Kole and Melissa Steiner Davion would be dead.

  15

  Zhongshan

  Federated Commonwealth

  13 May 3055

  Nelson Geist looked up as the Red Corsair entered the room he'd been assigned at the temporary raider base on Zhongshan. She wore an olive jumpsuit similar to the one draped over the foot of his bed. Even by the half-light coming through the open window, he could see the red stain already beginning to show near her left shoulder. He could also smell a cooling vest coolant leak.

  Her eyes blazed. "How dare you!"

  "Dare what?" He tore his blanket back, and despite being naked, stood to oppose her.

  "You told people I ordered the diversion" of foodstuffs to a ComStar hideout south of here."

  "I did." Images of his grandsons hovered in the back of his mind. "The food you take feeds us slaves. That ComStar center was being converted into a home for orphans. I sent the food because we can't use all we have liberated here and you were going to put the rest t
o the torch."

  The Red Corsair struck without warning. Her stinging backhanded slap knocked him back onto the bed. Lunging forward and straddling his chest, she pinned his arms to the bed with her knees. "I am the leader here. You are less than nothing. If you give orders in my name, they will be obeyed. If you give false orders in my name, you will be punished."

  Nelson tasted salty-sweet blood from his split lip. "I understand. Punish me, then, if you want. Make war with me, not children."

  "I do not make war on children," she spat out contemptuously. "We have slain all the warriors worthy of the name on Zhongshan. I would have slain you if you had made the warrior's choice." She slapped him again. "You are a freebirth nothing. I have ordered the orphanage razed."

  Fury pumped power into his muscles. His stomach knotted and he heaved upward. The Corsair leaned forward to use her weight to keep him pinned, but the movement allowed him to slip his right arm free instead. He struck out blindly at her head, but the blow missed, and he ended up driving his steel bracelet into the wound in her shoulder.

  Coolant mixed with blood splashed up from the wound. The Corsair slid off his chest and fell back on the floor. She landed hard, with a thump, then lay there with her knees drawn up and her head lolling to the right.

  Nelson sat up on the bed, then slid to his knees beside her. He reached up with blood-spattered fingers to snap on the bedside lamp, then tore open her jumpsuit and saw the hole in the cooling vest. A jagged piece of shrapnel had slashed open at least three coolant lines. The fluorescent yellow-green liquid oozed from the tubes and mixed with blood to become the color of a squished caterpillar.

  "Stupid warrior." Nelson stripped the jumpsuit down to her waist and tied the sleeves around her like a belt. He unlaced the cooling vest and tossed it aside too. Then he tore a chunk of cloth from the sheets, using it to dab away at the wound. It looked fairly clean, but Nelson knew that told only part of the story. While coolant might keep a warrior alive in the cockpit, the stuff was only slightly less toxic than snake venom if taken internally.