SUDDENLY THE AIR SEEMED TO ERUPT WITH EXPLOSIONS AND FLAMES ...
as a blast of autocannon fire scored huge hits on the 'Mech's chest. Duncan's head hit hard on the rear wall of the cockpit as the 'Mech jolted backward.
"I'll teach him," Trane said. The knight thumbed the trigger for the Warhammer's two PPCs. Duncan, still dazed from the head-banging, saw the error and reached out, grabbing Trane's arm.
"Let go!" Trane shouted.
"You'll kill us," Duncan screamed back, as two laser beams from the opposing Rifleman stabbed through the smoke like deadly searchlights, just missing the Warhammer as Trane sidestepped the attack.
"Let me fire," Trane insisted, moving the weapon's joystick to a lock on the advancing Rifleman.
"You've got both PPCs on line, Trane! This old 'Hammer can't vent heat like the ones you're used to piloting! We'll fry in this cockpit."
BATTLETECH
LE5386
STAR LORD
Donald G. Phillips
For Mort
ROC
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Books USA Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Books Ltd, 27 Wrights Lane,
London W8 5TZ, England
Penguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood,
Victoria, Australia
Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2 Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182-190 Wairau Road, Auckland 10, New Zealand
Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England
First published by Roc, an imprint of Dutton Signet, a division of Penguin Books USA Inc.
First Printing, February, 1996 10 987654321
Copyright © FASA Corporation, 1996 All rights reserved
Series Editor Donna Ippolito Additional Writing: Blaine Lee Pardoe Cover: Roger Loveless
Mechanical Drawings: Duane Loose and the FASA art department
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
BATTLETECH, FASA, and the distinctive BATTLETECH and FASA logos are trademarks of the FASA Corporation, 1100 W. Cermak, Suite B305, Chicago, IL 60608.
Printed in the United States of America
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE AT QUANTITY DISCOUNTS WHEN USED TO PROMOTE PRODUCTS OR SERVICES. FOR INFORMATION PLEASE WRITE TO PREMIUM MARKETING DIVISION, PENGUIN BOOKS USA INC., 375 HUDSON STREET, NEW YORK, NEW YORK IOOI4.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."
You will fight to the last soldier, and when you die, I will call upon your damned souls to rise and speak horrible curses at the enemy.
—Stefan Amaris to his troops defending Terra, 15 January 2779
Prologue
Court of the Star League
Unity City
Terra, Terran Hegemony
22 February 2774
Stefan Amaris, Emperor of his own grand Amaris Empire, self-proclaimed First Lord of the Star League, sat on the seat of the throne he'd had specially built and carved for his use. As one hand stroked the smooth, deep brown wood of the high-backed seat he reflected on how different his throne room was from the one used by the Star League's previous First Lords. That other chamber had been sealed for nearly eight years now, ever since the day he had assassinated young Richard Cameron, along with every living trace of his bloodline. They remained there, entombed where they had fallen around the throne.
Amaris knew that in time he would rewrite the history of that day. He would make the rest of humanity understand why he had been justified in seeking the power of this throne. Then they would know that his actions were righteous. And they would honor him and sing his praise and he would bask in glory.
Yes, this room was one of the few in the palace that contained no reminders of the Camerons or other long gone days in this palace. Amaris laughed at the thought, one hand brushing the massive medallion hanging from his neck as he idly scratched at his bulging belly. The huge platinum disk was engraved and painted with the image of a deep blue shark against a sea of red, the emblem of the Rim Worlds Republic, his Periphery kingdom and homeland far from Terra. Gone was the old eight-pointed emblem of the Star League, replaced by this one. In his other hand Amaris held the sceptre used for centuries by the Cameron First Lords. Wrapping his short thick fingers even tighter around it, he felt infused, as he always did, by its power.
Before him was a holographic map of the former Star League, his empire. The glowing colors now embraced a smaller area than on the cold wintry day he had swept into the palace to seize power from that spineless child Richard. But that did not worry him. He was the Star Lord, rightful ruler of the greatest interstellar alliance in the history of humanity. He had not slowly and carefully and craftily plotted his rise to this place for years to be defeated by a few military setbacks now.
The other House Lords of the star empires that formed the League had refused to help him fight off that old fool Kerensky. Of course those cursed despots were only looking out for themselves, and had not helped the General either. Their states had remained untouched by Kerensky's long assault, while Amaris had temporarily lost his Rim Worlds Republic. On the map it glowed red—the color he had assigned to Kerensky and his army, who were slowly attempting to surround him.
The crimson color encircled Terra and the worlds around it. Terra—birthplace of the human race and the eternal heart of the Star League. But Amaris was not at all worried about that red circle that was tightening like a noose around his holdings. He was, after all, Stefan Amaris. How many years had he spent setting in motion his plan, his vision? How many years had he waited, biding his time and cleverly winning the trust of the spoiled child who would one day inherit his father's throne as First Lord? And when the time was right, after he had watched and waited so patiently, so cunningly, he had singlehandedly captured the greatest power ever known in the history of man.
While he sat staring at the planets hanging in space before him, he was joined by a man wearing the olive drab and red sash of Amaris's own Republic Guards. It was General Legos, the man who had helped plan the coup and who was now the commanding officer of the Greenhaven Gestapo. Amaris turned slightly to face his longtime advisor, repositioning the sceptre to better support him.
"I trust you bring me good news from the front?" he said, though it had been a long time since any of his commanders had brought him good news. Indeed, the predecessors of Legos had all been dour old doomsayers, who saw nothing but gloom and defeat. But as Amaris always told himself, those who failed him did not do so for long. He hoped that Legos would not have to be tortured to death like the others, but even Legos would have to go if he could not properly serve the Emperor's vision of the future.
"Operations on Saffel are proceeding well," Legos said, but he looked fearful. Kerensky's army was paying a heavy price, but he was slowly grinding the Republican forces under.
Amaris saw that the man had more to say. "But...?"
"The city of Millilo fell today, but our forces have regrouped and General Johnston sends word that he is preparing a counterattack to recapture the city within the week."
The First Lord sighed heavily at the news. "I am displeased," he said, his tone seeming to promise unspeakable puni
shments.
"I am sorry, my lord." The general's voice cracked slightly, and Amaris savored the fear he heard in it.
"The fault is not yours, this time. The fault is with Johnston. His loss of Millilo is unacceptable. Order General Johnston arrested and returned to Terra for trial. Have our aerospace forces bomb the city. If I cannot have Millilo, no one will."
"What charges do you wish to bring against him, lord?"
"Treason, of course," Amaris snapped. "I ordered Johnston to hold that city no matter what the cost. He failed me, and now he will pay the price."
"It shall be done, lord," General Legos said, his will to resist broken by what Stefan Amaris had become in the passage of time.
"And on the matter of my wayward mistress?"
Legos stiffened at the mention of the task he'd been given. "Shera Moray has been making her way toward the worlds occupied by Kerensky and is currently on Slocum, which is under attack by the 159th Royal BattleMech Division. According to my agent, he will intercept her today and complete his mission. With luck, the targets will be eliminated within the day."
"You said 'targets'?"
"Yes, my lord. According to the operative pursuing her, she gave birth to a child four weeks ago on Altair."
"Male or female?" Amaris demanded.
"A boy child, lord. She named him Andrew."
Amaris rose to his feet and stepped down from the throne to come face to face with his general. "You will order them both destroyed, particularly the child," he screamed. In case there was any doubt about the order, he pounded the heel of the sceptre against the floor. The boom echoed throughout the vast chamber.
"It will be done as you command, sire."
"So it must. If that child lives, he or his heirs will be future pretenders to my throne. Rivals to my own rightful heirs. I want them destroyed, even if you must throw an entire division to the task. Do you hear me, Legos? The future of the Star League depends on it!"
Rotund City Slocum
Terran Hegemony
Shera Moray looked around to see if anyone was watching, then quickly stuffed the money into the other woman's hand.
The woman adjusted the bundled child in her arms as she furtively accepted the wad of bills. "That's a hefty price just to exchange identification papers," she said. Shera also had to heft Andrew up in her arms as she drew close enough to exchange her small brown packet of travel papers for the other woman's.
"I cannot let the boy's father find us," she said, trying to hide her terror. Shera Moray had no doubt what Stefan Amaris would do to them if he could. On New Earth she'd only narrowly managed to escape his men by taking passage in the cargo section of a transport. What a stroke of fortune it had been encountering this woman traveling with a child Andrew's age, a woman who resembled Shera vaguely enough to buy her some time, even if it was only hours or minutes. There was so much confusion these days, with the net of Kerensky's force drawing tighter, so many new laws and regulations, so much priority being given to the movement of troops to and from the front, that Shera was counting on the fact that few would pay much heed to a shabbily dressed peasant and her infant.
The woman laughed roughly. "He's a drunk, is he? Or what, maybe he beats you? Well, never mind, I don't care who you're trying to hide from. It can't be any worse than starving to death." Then she stuffed the money and the travel documents into the bodice of her filthy dress, and turned and walked away. Shera also turned and crossed the street, moving in the opposite direction. Andrew stirred in his tightly wrapped blankets, squirming slightly in bis mother's arms. Soldiers were everywhere and she knew that she must be very careful.
She'd hated Stefan Amaris, having become his mistress only under duress. Emperor he might be, but he was also some kind of madman who wandered through the palace shooting off his laser pistol at the paintings and statues of the Camerons and other high and mighty folk that filled the place. He had warned her to take precautions, that he would never allow her to bring any bastard of his into the world. But she had defied him and run away upon learning she was with child. Shera had seen the horrors that were now a daily occurrence in the once beautiful Unity City. She had seen what Amaris was, had touched his madness. He would stop at nothing to prevent her from giving life to a potential heir.
She looked over her shoulder and saw that a small group of soldiers had stopped the woman with whom she'd just exchanged identification papers. Her heart raced. More and more of them were gathering around, and it was obvious they'd been looking for her and had no intention of letting her go. The woman shouted something, but Shera couldn't make out the words over the bustle of people on the streets. No one even stopped. They knew that resistance to the Amaris troopers would either get them killed or sent to the "Re-Education Camps." She wanted to flee, but another part had to see what would happen next. She stopped only for a moment, pretending to examine some fruits at a sidewalk stall, but watching the encounter out the corner of her eye.
One of the soldiers held the woman's papers, another reached out for the child. She screamed and clutched the infant all the tighter, the baby also shrieking in fear by now. The circle of soldiers closed in even tighter. Suddenly, the woman bolted, pushing past the soldiers and breaking into a run. Two of the infantrymen leveled their laser rifles and, despite the crowded streets, opened fire.
The shots riddled the woman and the infant, cutting her down in mid-step with the child still in her arms. She spun slightly, then crumpled in a heap to the pavement. The child was still in her arms as she lay there, her blood already staining the walk around her head. The child was bleeding too, but would never move or cry again. Two passersby were struck as well, falling wounded near where Shera stood. The rest of the people on the street saw what happened, stopped for only a moment, and then continued quickly on their way. They had all seen enough friends and family taken away to be tortured and killed. They knew that resistance to the occupation forces was futile. They let the stranger and her baby lay dead in the middle of the street.
Shera Moray drew a long breath. It was her own death she was watching, for those shots had been intended for her and her son. But she had been spared, whether by luck or fate, she could not say. All that mattered was that she was alive, and her son still safe in her arms. And in that moment, she swore that her child or his kin would one day right the wrongs of his father.
1
Shimgata Mesa
Shiro III
Duchy of Andurien, Free Worlds League
1 April 3057
Lieutenant Hermann Bovos checked his 'Mech's long-range sensors and saw the faint image of a DropShip nearly a dozen kilometers ahead of him. Damn! he thought. What was it with this planet? Were the only ships that came here ones with captains who couldn't pilot their way out of a paper bag? This wasn't the first time he and his lance had been sent to pick up the crew of a downed ship.
But that was life in the military. Two years ago they'd been chasing bandits, and then his unit had pulled every warrior's nightmare—garrison duty. Turning his joystick to the right to avoid the cluster of rocks in the path of his Hermes II, Bovos told no one in particular that protecting a desolate world like Shiro III wasn't the reason he'd joined up with the Second Oriente Hussars. He cursed silently again. He'd been raised on tales of the unit's daring exploits and the tactical brilliance of its commanders. How proud he'd been to be accepted into the same famous unit that had been his father's.
Flanked on either side by the other three members of his lance, Bovos saw from the map on his secondary monitor that they were closing on the target zone. It certainly wasn't something his eyes could have told him. One jagged rock formation and twisted tree looked no different than any other on this stretch of parched ground known as Shimgata Mesa.
"There it is," he announced into the chin mike of his neurohelmet. But his thoughts were still on the eight generations of Bovos men and women who'd fought and served in the Free Worlds League military. In some cases their units had been on t
he wrong side of civil wars, like when the Hussars had supported Duncan Marik in his attempt to seize the throne that now belonged to his cousin Thomas. But all that was old news; the only thing that mattered was where they put their loyalties now. And both Bovos and his sister, an infantry trooper in the First Oriente Hussars, were fiercely dedicated to the Captain-General.
Bovos and his lance had been out on maneuvers when they got word that a commercial DropShip had crash-landed on the far side of the mesa. Being so close to the site, the lance was ordered to head over there, investigate, and if possible, rescue any survivors. Bovos had tried to tell his CO that they weren't equipped for medical operations, but he'd been overruled.
"Gramps, this is Ox," he signaled Sergeant Master Leo Striber.
"I copy," came back Striber's voice. The Sergeant was much older than most of his fellow Hussars. He'd fought on the side of the Anduriens when they'd tried to secede from the League back in 3037, and he'd been on Xanthe III during the ill-fated assault in which Duncan Marik lost his life. But like so many who'd fought in that war, Striber wouldn't talk about it. It had been a war of brother against brother, a tragic time for the League. Even Bovos's father was close-mouthed about those days.
"Target dead ahead. What do you get over the comm-line?"
"Not a peep," Gramps said. "Either there are no survivors or they can't communicate."
Bovos scanned the terrain and slowed his 'Mech slightly. The ground ahead was even more difficult and rough than what they'd already crossed, but it was the only approach to the area. They had no choice but to proceed as ordered.
"Ox to lance," Bovos said. 'Take this slow and easy. There are a lot of tight areas between us and the DropShip, so keep a close eye on your scanners."
"Roger, Ox." That was Simon Dozer from his Wasp on the far right flank. "Hell of a day for a stroll in the country, eh, Lieutenant?"
Star lord Page 1
