Poised on his hands and knees, Nelson saw the Lioness careen into the asteroid field. The first collision crumpled the ship, and debris trailed after it. He winced when it hit the final rock, the metal running like water over the asteroid's surface. Frantically looking to spot any 'Mechs, any people, anything that had survived the crash, he felt both victorious and horrified when he could not.
Looking up from the viewport in the pod's belly to the one at its head, he caught sight of the Tigress. It had been damaged, but compared to the other ship, it was pristine. As he watched, the ship executed a forward roll that reversed the main thruster position. The ion jets pulsed brilliantly, then the ship slowed, beginning the sharp ascent back up toward where the Fire Rose waited.
The fighters swarmed in at the lone DropShip, but the Tigress no longer had to idle part of its awesome firepower. To make things even worse, the Fire Rose used its large laser batteries to strike at the fighters that flew ahead of the Tigress and waited to attack.
As much as Nelson wanted the Tigress and the woman who ruled her to die, he admired them both as they fought off the enemy fighters. Before the Tigress had completed half the distance back to the Fire Rose, the fighters broke off their attack. The DropShip completed its rendezvous with the JumpShip and then the mated ships winked out of existence.
Nelson watched them go with relief and sadness. Though happy to be free, he regretted that it meant abandoning his comrades, who remained captives of the Corsairs. He knew that he was still responsible for them, even if they hated him for his association with the Red Corsair.
Seeing two aerofighters heading his way, each deploying a pod capture net, he smiled and made a solemn vow. "I'll find a way to get you guys back. I'll do it, or die trying."
32
Solaris
Federated Commonwealth
25 August 3055
The thick, sweet scent of the steaming green tea took the assassin back nearly ten years to an assignment he had successfully carried out within the Capellan Confederation. Looking around the small, ramshackle hut that arrogantly proclaimed itself a restaurant, all he saw now were old Liao expatriates hunched over steaming bowls of noodles. His sources had said this place was a cover for an opium den, and the urgency on the faces of those who gravitated toward the back doorway gave the assassin confirmation of that story.
The deja vu he felt was not at all pleasant. An agent of Romano Liao had hired him to murder a minor noble who displeased her, and then the Chancellor of the Capellan Confederation had tried to have him killed, too. He had needed every drop of the cunning and resourcefulness that made him so good at his work to get away from her hired killer. Diving back into the crucible did not arouse happy memories.
A shiver ran up his spine, but he flicked it off with a quick roll of his shoulders. Dressed in a dark long coat, the assassin felt secure with a needle pistol hidden at his back and another secreted in a boot top under the wide legs of his woolen trousers. No one knew better than he that it was impossible to make himself invulnerable or invincible, but he counted on his wits to get him out of any unforeseen trouble.
Spotting Fuh Teng in a back booth, the assassin approached him slowly and carefully, then slid into the seat across from him. He studied the room, then settled his gaze on the aged oriental man sitting opposite him. "I am here."
Fuh Teng smiled and bowed his head, upsetting the few white strands of hair lying across his tanned pate. "You will have tea?" The old man poured from the pot on the table, filling the two porcelain cups set out between them.
The assassin accepted the dark liquid and joined Fuh's toast to his health. He tasted nothing odd in the tea, but he knew very well that dozens of poisons that could cripple or kill him in an instant were undetectable by taste. He also knew that if, for some reason, Fuh Teng was setting him up, he'd be dead already.
The old man kept both hands clutched around his cup. "There is a story I would tell you."
"That is not necessary. I do not require to know why you seek my services."
"I will tell it anyway, because you are a businessman, as am I. You see, there was an old man who worked all his life for a noble family. He slaved and made a great fortune for this family, but they did not reward him. The old man was happy in his ignorance of how he was being treated, but then his life changed. In his old age he discovered the youth-giving gift of love, and his lover pointed out the injustices done to him."
The assassin suppressed a smile. So the old man has a gold-digger who wants him to make her rich.
"This old man wished to make up for the years of poor treatment, and began to help himself to greater compensation for his services. Meanwhile his old master died and his master's son has become his employer. His new employer wishes to pension the old man off, but the old man will be exposed when someone is brought in to replace him."
The assassin nodded. "So the old man would like his employer. . ."
"Distracted." Fuh Teng met the assassin's gaze with an unwavering stare. "The old man loves his employer like a son and is ashamed of having hurt him. Had he wished his employer dead, given his employer's line of work, that could easily have been accomplished. He only wants him distracted."
Fuh Teng slid his left hand forward, then pulled it back. On the table lay revealed a large golden coin with Chinese characters encircling the perimeter and impressed into the edge. More important, though, the assassin recognized the profile on the coin. "Candace Liao."
The old man nodded and the pieces began to fit into place for the assassin. If Candace were killed, the blame would immediately fall on her nephew, Sun-Tzu Liao, her sworn enemy and the Chancellor of the Capellan Confederation. Kai, her son, would be forced to assume his role as ruler of the St. Ives Compact, and might possibly even be forced to launch a war that would result in the reunification of the Capellan Confederation and the Compact under his rule.
"It can be done. When?"
"Four months?"
That would make it a quick hit, which he preferred to avoid, but it was possible. "As with anything, it can be done either quickly or cheaply, but not both."
"If you are able to prove to me that the assignment should be yours, and then accomplish the job successfully, you will be paid 3.5 million C-bills worth of corporate stocks, including shares in TharHes Industries and Defiance Industries."
The equal of what I got for the Archon, and paid in defense stocks. Obviously, he wants to ignite a war. "Impressive. You are ambitious."
"Frugal. I have been supporting Candace's brother in his posturing and threats against the Confederation for years. He has done nothing but grow fat on my charity. You are a stone with which I can kill two birds."
The assassin nodded. "How should I prove myself to you?"
Fuh Teng shrugged. "On Solaris a man is judged by his last battle."
The assassin shrugged. "That is too bad, because my last job had me working as a florist."
Fuh Teng nodded. "Candace does not like flowers." The old man stood up, exited the booth and bowed. "May your endeavor of the next four months prove fortuitous."
The assassin sipped tea calmly while he waited for the old man to leave the restaurant. He picked up the gold coin and ran his thumbnail over the characters incised into the edge. Candace Liao. She will prove a challenge. He snapped the coin down on the table and left the booth. A worthy challenge.
By the time he reached the door and saw the light drizzle beginning to come down, the assassin had almost completed the transformation to Chuck Grayson. He pulled his collar up and hunched his shoulders against the cold rain. He stepped out into the night, and started across the street.
A sudden shout from his left made him begin to turn that way just as a car on his right squealed on its brakes. The assassin hesitated, part of him refusing to believe that he could be taken down in a simple traffic accident. As the car clipped his right leg, fracturing the thigh and shin, a bolt of agony shot up his spine and exploded out the top of his head.
<
br /> As he hit the ground, echoes of the pain rippled through him, but he smiled in spite of it. That pain was not enough to hide the sting of the dart he felt in his shoulder, or the knowledge that the pain had been dulled by the drugs in his tea. He had been taken, and taken by professionals.
Unconsciousness did not wipe away his smile. The realization that he had, in fact, proved a worthy challenge to someone else made his sleep quite pleasant.
33
Arc-Royal
Federated Commonwealth
25 August 3055
Nelson Geist held his head high despite the fatigue making every muscle and bone of his body ache. Though he was not in chains and the Kell Hound infantrymen leading him down the corridor did not handle him unkindly, neither was he being treated as a free man. In some ways he had known more liberty with the Red Corsair, and with that thought the steel band on his wrist began to chafe.
He had given the Hounds everything they had asked for, both under normal interrogation and again when some nameless bastard who stank of the Clans started using chemical interrogation techniques. Nelson had a sneaking suspicion that the Clanner would have resorted to physical torture had he not been restrained because the man so obviously did not like the answers Nelson had given him.
The guards split apart as they approached a set of double doors that swung open and admitted Nelson to a briefing room. At the head of a long oaken table sat Colonel Allard and at his right was a young man in Clan leathers. Seated on Allard's left was the Clanner who had interrogated him. A couple of other officers took up places at the far end of the table, including one who reminded Nelson of the statue of Patrick Kell he had seen during his stint at the Nagelring twenty-seven years before.
Dan Allard pointed at the lone chair at the nearer end of the table. "Please be seated, Kommandant Geist. We apologize for putting you through an ordeal, but our need is urgent."
Nelson lowered himself carefully into the chair, resisting the desire to slump in exhaustion. "I appreciate your concern, Colonel. For the most part I have not found the experience unpleasant, but I would not want to repeat it." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "I want to help, and I've told you everything I can. Give me a 'Mech and I'll repay my debts to you and the Red Corsair in full."
As Nelson looked around at the men and lone woman seated in front of him, the MechWarriors among them shied from eye contact—even the Clanners. "You're not going to do that, are you, Colonel Allard?" Full realization of what was truly going on hit him. "This is a trial, isn't it?"
Dan shook his head. "No, Kommandant, this is not a trial. It is an informal hearing, convened to let you know where you stand and to explain why we have reached the decisions we have made concerning you." Dan glanced at the man to his left. "Star Colonel Ward fervently believes you are a Trojan horse full of disinformation designed to cripple our efforts to stop the Red Corsair. Conversely, Major Kell here is willing to make a place for you in his battalion."
Chris Kell's warm smile shielded Nelson from the icy glare the older Clanner gave him. "And you, Colonel, and the rest of you?"
Dan shook his head. "I am undecided. I think you are a fine warrior and I would be happy to have someone of your caliber in my command. Conal Ward, Khan Phelan Ward, and Dr. Kendall have reservations that make me approach you cautiously."
Nelson's gaze flicked past Khan Phelan and settled on the petite, black-haired woman sitting around the corner of the table from the Khan. I remember her. Dim recollections of the woman visiting him while he was still in the throes of a chemical interrogation returned slowly. She said her name was Susan. I thought she was a dream.
She adjusted her glasses and met his stare. "In our interview I learned some things that concern me, Kommandant. Mind you, none of these matters are pathological, and with proper therapy, I think you should recover fully. ..."
"The only therapy I need, Doctor, is to be strapped into a 'Mech with the Red Corsair in my sights."
Nelson's growl reinforced the smile on Chris Kell's face, but that did not stop Doctor Kendall. "The Stockholm syndrome was first identified nearly eleven hundred years ago as a hostage's identification with his captors. It is a form of adaptation that is quite normal in a highly stressful situation like the one in which you found yourself."
Nelson leaned back and raised his right fist. "This manacle marked me a slave, Doctor, not a hostage. This kept me apart from the bandits. There was no identification with them."
Conal Ward's head came up. "Is that so, Nelson? You were the Red Corsair's lover. I hardly see a wall there."
"That was different."
"Was it?"
"Yes." Anger and rage shook him. "She was an obsession. I hated her, yet I could not resist her. I'm sure the doctor here can tell you that I was punishing myself or compensating for my half-hand or something like that. I don't know and I don't care. All I know is that I still hate her and if she's ever in my crosshairs, she will become only a memory."
As he finished speaking, Nelson realized he was gripping the steel link on his wrist and rotating it with his maimed hand. Glancing down, he saw blood begin to seep up through the abrasions. When he looked up again, he saw Kendall shaking her head.
"You obsess about more than the Red Corsair, Kommandant Geist. That manacle, for example." She glanced down at the small noteputer in front of her. "You have steadfastly refused to let us remove it from your wrist."
"It's not what you think. I do not cling to this as a way-of identifying with the bandits." Nelson dropped his gaze, then continued in a subdued voice. "When it hit me that I had abandoned my people—Spider and the others—when I escaped from the Tigress, I decided to continue to wear this constantly as a reminder of my obligation to them."
He looked up and straight at Colonel Allard. "You can understand that, can't you? In a moment of madness I forgot about them. I got away, thinking only of myself. But I owe it to them to help free them, which is why I need a 'Mech."
"I understand, Kommandant, and I understand your rejection of Dr. Kendall's assessment of you." Dan frowned, then shook his head. "As much as I want to believe you, and do believe you, I cannot give you a BattleMech."
Anger jolted through Nelson. "Forgive me, sir, but if you believe me, and if I have convinced you that I am not in thrall to the bandits, why not? I'm able, very able." He held up his left hand. "Don't let this fool you. I can handle a 'Mech."
Khan Phelan leaned forward slowly. "We are well aware of that, Kommandant, which is precisely why you will not be given a 'Mech."
"I don't understand."
The Clan Khan's eyes narrowed. "Computer, play back 55.04.30, Yeguas 3.1, Slot 7."
The computer complied, and above the polished surface of the table a holographic display of a battle took shape. Nelson recognized the surface of Cue Ball, but realized he was seeing the engagement from the Wolf Clan perspective. As he watched, the viewpoint 'Mech went bounding forward toward a BattleMaster. The holographs began to waver as the 'Mech began to have trouble. When the BattleMaster fired its PPCs, however, the diagnostic subtrack started to report incredible damage.
"Isolate and magnify BattleMaster's gunner." At Phelan's command, the battle froze and the perspective zoomed in until Nelson saw himself hovering over the table. The Khan stared at him through the ghostly green image. "We have similar battle ROMs from Deia. You did the Red Corsair's killing for her, Kommandant Geist. You will never again pilot a 'Mech, and if what you have told us is disinformation, you will face a court-martial and execution for your acts of treason."
"That is a fair bit down the road, Khan Phelan." The white-haired Kell Hound leader turned back to Nelson. "You are under house arrest for the time being, Kommandant, but anything you require, within reason, will be made available to you."
"But not a 'Mech?"
"I'm sorry, no."
"Why not just take me out and have me shot?" If I cannot get a 'Mech here on Arc-Royal, I will never be rid of her.
&n
bsp; Conal's head come up. "That is my recommendation, quisling."
"Soon there will be killing enough for us all." Dan glanced at the Clansman on either side of him. "You are a security risk, Kommandant Geist, but not one that figures high on my list of worries. Soon this will all be behind you. You are dismissed."
"With all due respect, Colonel Allard, you don't understand." Nelson's hands balled into fists. "Don't send me away, don't cut me out. You need me. I know how the Red Corsair thinks. I can help you figure out where she will strike next."
Khan Phelan leaned back in his chair. "We already know where she will strike. And when."
Nelson blinked his eyes. "And you are here, on the ground? Are you fools? You will never be able to react fast enough to get her."
"We do not need to react." Phelan steepled his fingers. "The Kell Hounds and the Wolf Clan hurt her. There is only one place she can hit where she can hurt both entities." The young Khan's smile reminded Nelson of an expression he had often seen on the Red Corsair's face. "We have sent our JumpShips and DropShips off to guard other worlds, and that is information she will stumble across easily."
Nelson's mouth went dry. "Which means she'll be coming here."
Phelan nodded as solemnly as an undertaker. "And on Arc-Royal her career ends."
BOOK III
The Killing Time
34
Arc-Royal
Federated Commonwealth
5 September 3055
Khan Phelan Ward looked out the window of the office meant for the Grand Duke of Arc-Royal. Down below two dozen people were picketing, slowing traffic and attracting a small crowd of the curious. Phelan's eyes narrowed, but the half-smile never left his lips.
"I would have them all shot." Conal Ward stood away from the window, like a vampire dreading the sun's warm kiss. "The ruling caste of Arc-Royal has decided to let you remain here, yet these people commit treason and you tolerate it." The Clansman sniffed. "But then you have become used to abiding treason."
Natural Selection Page 24
